The Dragon of Avalon
by darklydreamingdoctor
Summary: When Merlin is wounded at Camlann instead of Arthur, the two journey to Avalon in a final attempt to save the sorcerer's life. They receive help from an unexpected source, leaving Merlin battling a strange condition. Morgana pairs with a new adversary, who strikes frighteningly close to home, and in the face of a rising dark army Merlin and Arthur must defend the future of Albion.
1. Liar

_Note: A_ _s a lot of other people no doubt preface their stories: please be gentle, I'm a newbie, and a scared one at that. Any sort of comments, criticism, thoughts, or what have you would be sorely appreciated.- X_

* * *

He was light, lighter than Arthur had remembered, but at the same time there was a certain dead weight to his friend

 _friend? Was that still true?_

that made his arms burn. After they'd lost the horses Merlin had tried walking alongside him for a ways but after Arthur had had to catch him for the third time he'd picked him up, trying to ignore the low, hollow moan at every step. At first he hadn't cared about the sound, enjoyed it even

 _how could he lie for so long? Everyone was a liar but not Merlin, never Merlin-_

but even with the sour, burning taste of betrayal in his mouth he couldn't help but remember that the blade had been meant for him. It was probably another day's journey to Avalon and silently Arthur wondered if they'd even make it

 _maybe it's for the best. Then I don't have to-_

because the dead weight was sinking into his shoulders like lead and every time he looked down the crimson was still there, still dark and wet even with the makeshift bandage wound as tightly as he'd been able. It was on his armor, too, glinting brightly in the evening sun. Merlin hadn't shifted in a while and vaguely Arthur wondered if he was dead. He hadn't decided how that would make him feel when, in answer, the pallid skin on his burden's face tightened in a grimace.

The sunset was slow, languid, like the day would stretch on forever as sweat ran down from Arthur's temples. There was a different kind of sweat on Merlin's face, a sickly sheen, and Arthur pretended not to notice. He stumbled a couple of times as he gazed ahead, staring down the interminable forest and still undecided as to whether or not he wanted to reach the lake's shore. Arthur couldn't decide on a lot of things, it seemed. He was too confused to feel angry (or maybe too tired), but he could sense a dull rage throbbing in his head.

 _Liar, liar, liar, liar,_ _ **liar.**_

He didn't look down at the man he carried because the face was wrong. It had been a mask, a bright, familiar mask, all cheerful smiles and innocence and _lies_. The man he carried was evil, had to be, because magic was pure evil and he'd been using magic all along. It was the face of

 _Merlin, the sun pouring over his tired face as he said, "I didn't want you to feel that you were alone."_

 _Merlin, jumping in front of the Dorocha and begging to stay with Arthur when he couldn't even sit up, let alone fight._

 _Merlin, telling him solemnly, "I'll be happy to serve you until the day I die."_

a sorcerer.

The interminable day, Arthur realized as he tripped for the fifth time, was turning into an interminable night. There was a clearing not far ahead and he made for it, setting Merlin down with a gentleness that surprised even him. Still, the man cried out pitifully, and Arthur stood and turned away in disgust

 _for me or for him_

and began to search for firewood. It had been almost warm that day but without the sun on their backs it was rapidly getting colder.

"Do you even know how to light that?"

The voice was unexpected and Arthur froze, still poised to start the fire. He turned to see that Merlin had propped himself up on one of the bags and was smiling tentatively, but there was no mistaking the fear and anxiety in his eyes even in the dark. Arthur felt a swell of gladness but quickly shoved it aside

 _it's not Merlin, it's a sorcerer, a_ _ **liar**_

and fixed him with a hard stare. "I imagine it's easier when you're using magic."

The weak smile fell away and Arthur felt a fleeting pride even as he felt ashamed. Perhaps it was the latter of the two emotions that won out in that moment because then he heard his own voice, strangely calm.

"Go ahead."

"What?" Without the crooked smile to hide behind the fear and anxiety were even more plain now, etched into skin paled to a sickly white and in eyes that were a little too glassy.

"Use magic. That's why you're so good at lighting fires, isn't it?" There was a tense pause. "I'm not going to execute you, Merlin, just start the damn fire." As Arthur spoke he saw Merlin flinch and realized that he must have been expecting as much (although the idea of executing a man in the middle of the night in a forest was somewhat laughable). At the same moment Arthur also realized that he had no intention of executing his old friend-

 _friend?-_

servant.

He didn't want to watch as Merlin raised his hand at the crude pit Arthur had made, and yet he couldn't look away. There was a word- an old word, a _magic_ word- and the familiar blue eyes were blazing an eerie, inhuman gold and then there were flames, snapping and crackling as innocently as any other campfire Arthur had ever seen.

"How long?" he asked conversationally, sitting a little ways back from the fire and regarding it suspiciously.

"I was born with magic," Merlin stared sleepily into the flames, too, and Arthur cast a few him furtive looks. "It wasn't... I didn't choose it, if that's what you thought. And I've only ever used it for you, Arthur."

The words were biting. The same magic that had killed his parents and warped his half-sister had been used in his name for God knew how long.

"How could you never tell me?" There was an edge of petulance in his voice, like a child, and he winced inwardly.

"You would have chopped my head off." He laughed softly, like it was a joke, but Arthur knew it wasn't. "I wanted to tell you, Arthur. I tried once or twice, but I..." he swallowed, looking small. "I'm sorry." He paused again, turning to look at Arthur. "If I could do it all again I would."

"I don't understand. If you've always had magic, why would you come to Camelot?" Arthur didn't meet Merlin's searching gaze.

"It was my destiny." Merlin settled back on the pack, groaning slightly as he shifted but looking almost... _content_. "I was born to keep you safe, to ensure you could become king. The Once and Future King..." he was slurring a little, and his eyes were closed. The movement of his chest was shallow.

"We can't stay here." His voice sounded apologetic to his own ears. "Avalon's still a day's hike away

 _and Merlin can't make it that far, he won't last without the horses_

and we can't waste much time."

"It doesn't matter," he thought he heard Merlin say.


	2. Avalon

"Hey," he gently shook Merlin's shoulders, but there was no response. "Hey, come on. We've got to get moving."

It had been about two hours. Arthur had stayed awake, watching the magic fire and listening to the intermittent coughing, moaning sounds coming from Merlin. He was getting worse. Arthur estimated he had another day, almost certainly less. They would have to hurry.

"Go away," the blue eyes didn't open but Arthur sighed with relief at the tired voice.

"Come on, Merlin. Stop being such a girl." He kicked out the fire and kept his voice light as he picked the man up. He felt, rather than heard, the sharp intake of breath.

"Stop, please," he whimpered, and Arthur shook his head.

"Look, unless you want to walk to Avalon-"

"I don't care about Avalon!" Merlin burst out, and Arthur froze.

"Gaius said it's your last chance. Why-"

"I can't, I...I'm just tired," he amended softly, and suddenly there was a chill Arthur hadn't noticed before. "I did everything I had to... just let me sleep, Arthur, I'm so tired..." the words were dreamy and yet they were colder than the breeze ruffling Arthur's hair. He shook his head and began to walk as fast as he could without jostling Merlin too much.

"When we get back home I'll give you a day off," Arthur said suddenly, desperately, and saw a smile playing at Merlin's lips.

"An entire day?"

"Two," he offered brightly, and Merlin seemed to drift back to sleep then. Arthur began to walk faster.

The trees, and the hours, flitted by and Arthur was in a daze. Merlin slept fitfully, and every time he woke he begged to stop and to rest. He cried out people's names- Gaius, his mother, Gwaine, himself. There was only one name Arthur didn't recognize: Freya.

His legs were burning, and his arms, but he didn't dare shift his grip on Merlin. Every time Arthur looked down the man's face spurred him to go a little faster. The lips were colorless, like the skin, and dark circles had formed under the eyes which roved wildly beneath sallow eyelids. His arms dangled loosely in the air beneath him but the fingers would clench and relax in white-knuckle spasms.

"Merlin, talk to me." Arthur was out of breath but he wanted Merlin awake, _needed_ him awake, because he was worried the man might not wake up from his feverish sleep. "Wake up, Lazy Daisy. Remember? Rise and shine."

"Shuddup... clotpole." The reply was slow, spaced unevenly between ragged breaths, but it sounded like Merlin's usual inane banter and Arthur smiled.

"You know, after all that talk about notching my belt, I do believe that you've gotten fatter."

"I'd still...beat you, in a footrace." Just below his line of sight Arthur caught a glimpse of a worn but familiar smirk. He was trying to think of some sort of snappy comeback

 _it was hard, so hard. He always had some witty response on hand but this time-_

when Merlin spoke again. "Thank you."

"For what? Carting your idiot self around because you went and got yourself into trouble?" he asked lightly. He knew what Merlin was about to say and he didn't want to hear it because the trees were thinning and he could see, distantly, the glint of water ahead.

"It has been... an honor, sire," Merlin said thickly. There was a beatific look on his face and Arthur shook his head, his eyes burning. "You are the greatest king... that Camelot has ever known, and I-I... I'm so happy I..."

He drifted into silence and Arthur faltered, looking down. The look of bliss was clearing, Merlin's eyes having slid shut, and he just looked tired. Tired and still.

" _Merlin_." Arthur realized he had stopped completely and he broke into a sprint, tearing through the last of the trees and into the lake. He fell to his knees in the shallows and the water was cold, so cold, and there was a keening noise coming from somewhere nearby

 _it's me, my God, but Merlin-_

and there was something in his throat, something that he couldn't swallow and his face felt hot and he held his ear over Merlin's chest.

"-please, Merlin, _dammit,_ we made it, we're here," he was sobbing, and then he heard it.

 _Thump_.

It was so soft he thought he'd imagined it, until there was a second- _too far apart, they shouldn't be that far apart_ \- but he was _alive._

 _"HELP ME!"_ He screamed, and it rebounded off the lake. He'd made it to Avalon but he had no idea what he was supposed to do and the clearing was empty. Nobody was coming to help. Precious seconds ticked by and he was losing him, he was losing his best friend on some godforsaken lake shore and it was supposed to be him on the sand, not Merlin, never Merlin.

" _PLEASE!"_ Arthur cradled the man's head to his chest, half in and half out of the water, and watched strange rivulets of crimson ebb away from where they sat. Filaments broke away, winding like seaweed. " _SOMEBODY!"_

The echoes of his voice mocked him. The last traces of it died away and there was silence on the lake.

And then came the sound of wings.


	3. The Dragon

"Kil... Kil..." Arthur tore his gaze from the hulking creature in the sky to find Merlin's eyes open, dull but searching. To Arthur it sounded like a plea: _Kill_. He didn't know if Merlin was lucid enough to register the threat of the dragon, or if he was begging Arthur to let him sleep ( _I'm so tired, Arthur...)_ but either way Arthur didn't reach for his sword. He held his friend tighter and glared at Kilgharrah as he descended on the shore.

"So we meet again, Arthur Pendragon." The creature spoke and its voice held a wisdom Arthur couldn't even fathom but at that moment the dragon sounded angry.

"I do not want to fight you," Arthur said, trying to keep his voice level.

"Kil... Kilgharrah..." Merlin sounded delirious, his head snapping from one side to the other in agitation. " _Nun... drakon, nun de ge..._ "

"No," the dragon tilted its head, blinking owlishly at the king. The golden eyes were massive, fiery... and sad.

 _"Ithi! Non didlkai, **ithi** , Kil..._" Arthur looked down at Merlin, who had opened his eyes again and was looking at the dragon with a panicked expression on his face. Arthur saw that the familiar blue fizzled with same gold as the dragon, weak and sporadic, and realized sickeningly that Merlin was trying to cast a spell.

"Not this time, young warlock," Kilgharrah settled down onto the sand like a cat, his neck dipping until the great head was within inches of Arthur's. The king froze, feeling the warmth of the dragon's breath wash over him and waiting for a burst of flames. "You will be the greatest king that Albion will ever know, Pendragon. The boy has given his life to make sure of it." There was a heady pause and Arthur watched the nostrils flare, imagining a jet of gold and red. "But you are not ready yet."

"No, please, I don't want... _ithi, nun de ge..._ Kilgharrah, please..." Merlin was almost panting now and Arthur had to tighten his grip for fear that his friend would reopen the wound on his chest.

"It will be my pleasure." The great dragon pulled away. "Arthur, you will need to stand back."

"No." His hands instinctively closed tighter on Merlin's arms and he felt the man stiffen, but he didn't let go.

"You will create the future you were destined to, Arthur Pendragon, but you cannot succeed without Merlin. It is his destiny to protect you. And it is my destiny to save him." There was a pause, and the expression softened. "Please, young king. There is not much time."

Letting go of Merlin was the most difficult thing Arthur could ever remember having to do. The sorcerer was sobbing, choking out the same fragments of a language Arthur didn't understand: _Drakon, n_ _un de ge ithi. Non didlkai ithi. Kilgharrah, ithi._

"I wanted this, Kilgharrah, please..." Merlin's voice was wavering, his skin deadly pale now that Arthur could see him at a distance.

"It is my time, young warlock. And it is my honor."

The great head lowered and the spray of light that Arthur had been expecting came- not in a jet, but in a billowing wave which overtook the slight form half in and half out of the lake. The golden light flooded over Merlin, past him, and the whole of the surface of the lake was set aflame, but the fire looked unspeakably gentle. It reminded Arthur of Merlin's blood in the water, twisting towards the sky in glowing fibers and dancing in thousands of independent streams. The light grew so intense that it seemed to blot out the sun and yet it didn't burn Arthur's eyes. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

The light slowly receded, seeming to be drawn to a single point on the beach. As more and more of it disappeared Arthur realized it was pouring into the body of his friend. Merlin was faceless, featureless, a body made of light and of magic. It burned brightest where the sword wound had been, blazing for a moment longer before it began to disappear.

The dragon looked at Arthur, silent, and Arthur realized that there were tears coursing down his own face. There was an unutterable sadness in the air, like the universe itself was grieving over what he now understood to be the death of a dragon. Kilgharrah's scales were rippling, lifting first like grass on a windy plain and then spiraling away, breaking into thousands of tiny glittering pieces as the dragon lifted his head to the sky. The sorrow grew so intense that Arthur feared he would break and then the creature was gone, leaving Arthur alone on the beach with Merlin's still form.

He couldn't find his voice but he ran, kicking up plumes of sand as he neared his friend. There was no rise and fall in the bony chest and the crimson looked as wet as ever and _it didn't work, the dragon failed, I failed and it was all too late-_

And then there was a sound. An airy, breathless sound, like a faint breeze struggling to reach the mouth of a cavern.

Merlin's eyes opened.


	4. Changing

"Merlin!" Arthur grabbed the lifeless shoulders and shook them, his fingers reveling in the healthy warmth of the sorcerer's skin beneath the sodden clothes. "Hey. Say something."

Suddenly a violent cough seemed to force its way up from somewhere deep in Merlin's chest and the man surged forwards against the king's grip, sucking in air in heaving gasps like a drowned man. Arthur pulled him into a fierce hug, feeling a pulse as their necks briefly touched.

"Does this mean...you're not going to banish me?" Even while coughing the old sarcasm was there and Arthur finally had to force himself to pull away from the hug, laughing almost deliriously.

"No," he said, some of the mirth dying from his voice as he realized he meant it. After a moment, he remembered himself and stood. "How are you feeling?"

"Better than you look, prat." Merlin smiled and got to his feet, unaided, and Arthur felt a swell of relief in his chest, and then suddenly Merlin pitched forward.

"Hey. Hey, what is it?" He grabbed at the man, who was holding his head in both hands and groaning. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

"I need to get to Gauis," he managed, and his eyes snapped open. The blue irises were clouded, swirling with sluggish spirals of gold like water after someone had poured in a pitcher of milk. His heart in his mouth, Arthur pulled one of Merlin's arms around his neck and started walking towards Camelot.

"What did it do to you?" He kept one eye on his friend as they walked. His brow was furrowed, his eyes shut, and he breathed heavily even though their pace was slow at best. There was no answer. Unnerved by the deathly silence, Arthur tried again. "Merlin."

"What." For all their banter Arthur was unused to the hard edge to his manservant's voice.

"When you said… When you told me you were tired—"

"I was delirious, Arthur. It didn't mean anything."

"I don't want to hear that ever again." He didn't want to admit it but it had scared him. Merlin had always seemed so cheerful, making jokes even when death seemed imminent, and for him of all people to say something like that…

"Do you have any idea how alone I felt?" Merlin murmured. "Every day." There was a pause. "Can you imagine realizing that your best friend could never know… who you really were, because if he did, he would hate you?"

"I don't hate you, Merlin," Arthur took a deep breath. "I could never hate you."

"You hate magic. Magic is a part of me, Arthur. And when we get back to Camelot-"

"We're a while away from Camelot yet." He chose to ignore the sharp question in Merlin's words. The quiet became almost tangible and they walked on.

They had made it a few miles when Merlin's knees seemed to give out on him. He fell, clutching with frightening strength at Arthur's arm, and let out a terrible, agonizing scream. Arthur had never felt so powerless in his life.

"Tell me what to do!" He was panicking.

The scream tapered off into a series of miserable, barking cries, with no intelligible answer.

"Tell me what you need. What's going on? I can't—"

"Gaius," Merlin managed before screaming again, curling up like he was trying to protect himself from some invisible force. His hands had snaked themselves into his hair, the knuckles branded a bony white. "Get Gaius."

"I can't leave you alone here!" Arthur could see the man's body shaking, almost seizing as he panted.

" ** _GO!"_** It was more than a scream. It was a roar, and waves of sound seemed to ripple out from Merlin and the trees around them snapped away as in the face of a hurricane. Arthur stumbled and fell on his backside, half-frozen in shock. Merlin's eyes were no longer hazy but also not the light gold of a sorcerer; they were the fierce, burning gold of the dragon, halved by catlike slits, and when he'd screamed, Arthur had caught sight of incisors and canines elongated almost to the point of fangs.

" _Please."_ As if in contrast Merlin spoke again and he sounded small, breaking into hiccuping sobs. Arthur got to his feet and ran.

 _Somewhere, far from the clearing where Merlin lay, Morgana's head snapped up from a grave marked only by a sword. An inhuman scream had echoed across her consciousness and across the consciousness of every Druid in the Five Kingdoms. It was a scream of unspeakable agony and yet of equally unspeakable power, and Morgana's tears almost froze on her face._

 _"Emrys," she breathed, and she pulled the sword from where it had been stuck into the earth._


	5. Help

Arthur had never been a runner, not really. He was an excellent horseman and an even better fighter, but as his chain mail shuddered and dragged him down with every step he wished he had walked or run on a couple of hunting trips. The past few days had been the longest of his life. He thought to himself, pityingly, that he was running ( _goddammit, I'm too tired for puns like that_ ) on a collective five hours of sleep for about three days, gathered between battles and toting Merlin around and now sprinting like his life depended on it ( _because Merlin's does)._

 _I'm so tired._

More than once he had caught himself slowing

 _just for a little bit, just a few minutes, nobody has to know—_

and then the image of Merlin would materialize, unbidden, in his head: lying, shivering, on the forest floor, crying out hideous broken sobs for help, or worse

 _stop_

because it had been hours since he'd left him

 ** _stop_** _it_

and he could have gotten worse

 ** _stop it_**

and after everything Arthur had said to him

 ** _shut up._**

He began to run faster.

Somehow, it was nighttime. Arthur had been drifting, practically asleep on his feet but still he ran. There was a coppery taste in his mouth but his tongue was too dry to swallow and his throat burned anyways. At some point he supposed he'd shed his armor because he was wearing only his tunic and pants, and they were soaked and he was aware of feeling cold and so he sped up again.

Time was passing in a strange and disconcerting haze. The space that the moon had been occupying only a moment ago was now encompassed with an impossibly bright sun, dancing in a dizzying line in the sky and sometimes there was more than one, like the trees which jumped confusingly in front of him and the roots which materialized beneath his feet. His knees pulsed angrily and scratches he didn't remember getting burned on his arms, his face, through foreign tears in his clothes. He blinked and the sun seemed to be lower than it ought to have been and then it was night again and Arthur sat up with a hoarse cry. He'd passed out. Hours might have passed, days, even, and panicked sobs forced their way up and out of his ragged throat as he scrambled to his feet and began to run again.

When the uneven forest floor gave way to hard-packed dirt Arthur didn't notice; even when he shambled past the confused palace guards, he didn't see them or hear their calls. He ran straight into Gaius's chambers and would have kept running if the old physician had not reached out and grabbed Arthur's shoulder.

"Arthur?" He asked incredulously as the guards caught up and spilled into the suddenly cramped room.

Arthur couldn't speak, his eyes roving wildly about the room apparently without sight.

"Arthur, where's Merlin? What happened?" There was a hard edge in Gaius's voice—disguised fear. He led the king towards his own cot and Arthur seemed to come around.

"Help," he croaked, and Gaius nodded knowingly.

"He's severely dehydrated and malnourished. He needs rest, and-"

"Merlin," Arthur shook his head frantically, pushing away arms that herded him towards the bed. "Please, he... help, he..."

"Where is he?" Gaius seemed to understand immediately, handing Arthur a cup of water. Gratefully he swallowed, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded rusty, but intelligible.

"Something happened. There was a dragon and it healed him, but something went wrong. I couldn't move him." Arthur's voice broke. "Oh, gods, Gaius, I think he might be dying."

"Can you take me to him?" Gaius kept his tone professional but faintly, Arthur heard it quiver. He nodded, and the physician began to pack a bag with books and herbs. His hands were shaking.

"I'm coming," Percival stepped forward, Leon sidling up next to him.

"Where's Gwaine?" Arthur asked slowly. It wasn't unlike the knight to be absent ( _figures, he's probably at the tavern)_ but the man seemed to have a sixth sense wherever Merlin was concerned. His question was met with silence, and he repeated it more forcefully. "Percival, _where's Gwaine_?"

Despite being the largest man in the room Percival looked pitifully small, unable to meet the king's eyes. "Morgana, she…"

Arthur closed his eyes, and he was thankful for the exhaustion he felt because otherwise the news of Gwaine's death would have been crushing. "We need to get going," he said finally, and their small party filed out of the physician's chambers and towards the stables.


	6. Merlin

All at once there was no sound, and too much. He'd been wounded before, stabbed and shot and burned, and he was expecting—no, he was ready—for it to hurt. But when there was no pain, he knew something was different. Wrong.

His vantage point from the cliff had felt almost godly as he swept his arms through the air, bolts of lightning dancing from his fingertips. Even in disguise it was the freest he'd ever felt. Instinctively his eyes roamed the battlefield, searching out one man amidst hundreds. Arthur was surrounded but fighting the way he always did, and Merlin flared his hand towards him, and the men around the king were thrown like rag dolls. Arthur looked up, and their eyes met. A strange shiver coursed down Merlin's spine. From such a distance the king's gaze was unreadable but Merlin felt… uncovered. Naked, almost. And honest. Storm clouds of his own design were circling above his head and Arthur could see them, see him, and Merlin imagined for a second that Arthur was seeing through the beard and the aged face, too.

He didn't know how long they might have stood, staring out at each other, but the standoff was broken by a single figure tearing through walls of knights and mercenaries alike towards Arthur. Merlin recognized Mordred almost instantly and he suddenly felt icy cold.

 _Not like this. Not here. Not after everything._

He almost flew down the cliff face, leaping over boulders and shedding his aging spell like a cloak when it slowed him down. Men in front of him were cast aside, the throngs parted without so much as a thought on his part. The fear rose and swelled in his chest, expanding so it felt like his heart would burst through his ribs.

"Arthur!" He shouted, his voice breaking in a surge of panic. The king was defending himself from Mordred's blows but only just, an expression of terrible sadness on his face. The Druid's face, in contrast, was violently distorted by an animalistic hatred. His mouth was moving, shouting indiscernible curses and with every one Arthur's parries slowed. The king staggered under the blows, his arms visibly shaking.

" **FIGHT ME!"** Mordred was screaming, swinging left and right like a man chopping down a tree. There was no grace, only boundless rage, and each drive pushed Arthur farther back. One wild swing knocked Excalibur from his hand and he made no move to reclaim it, falling onto his back as he stared up at Mordred, resignation written all over his features.

There was no time to think, not that Merlin would have done anything different given the time. He leapt, shielding Arthur with his body as the sword was driven home.

No pain.

There was a noise, like stepping into an unexpected patch of mud. The sounds of the battle had been muffled as with cotton, and yet he could hear his heartbeat like thunder. The pace was regular, steady. His breathing was even. It was like nothing had happened. But colors were fading, seeping out of everything even as it shifted and he fell backwards. Arthur had scrambled up, and as Merlin's head lolled back he caught a glimpse of the king's face. He was screaming something, veins suddenly pronounced in his neck and his entire body trembling with the force of his cry. He picked up his sword and lunged forwards in a single motion, and Merlin heard that sound, too—the soft schick as the blade tore through the Druid's torso and emerged, stained, on the other side.

With that noise, every sound came crashing back in waves. The roar of the battle around him enveloped him, the screams of the wounded and the dying and a single voice, so familiar Merlin almost missed it.

"No," it was saying, softly, like a child. Lost. "No, no. No, please, no."

Arthur's face swam into focus and Merlin smiled.

"S'okay," he mumbled. His eyelids were heavy, deliciously so. How nice it would feel to sleep…

"Open your eyes. Dammit, Merlin, listen to me, I need you to open your eyes. I need you awake. I need you, Merlin, please—"

The voice was broken, and sad. _Why was he so sad?_

"It doesn't hurt," Merlin said, and he wanted to see if that made Arthur feel better but his eyes had become too difficult to open. Sound faded out again, but snatches of it drifted back to him in the dark, and it was Arthur's voice. There was the sensation of being lifted, of moving, and there were flares of wrongness in his midsection. They were dull, not yet pain, but he wished Arthur would stop.

"Let me go," he tried to say, but he couldn't speak.

The next he knew he was lying in the forest, and Gaius and Arthur were speaking a few feet away.

"The wound…dire, no mortal…dragon's breath…"

"…how long… I can't…Merlin, dammit, I…no choice?..."

"…the Sidhe… sire, he hasn't got…"

The snippets were confusing, and quickly were drowned out by a blooming agony in his chest. Involuntarily, he moaned, and the conversation stopped.

"Merlin?" Gaius's face swam into his line of sight.

"I did it," he breathed, and screwed his eyes shut against the harsh light of the sun. "I changed it. It'll be okay."

"I'm taking you to Avalon," it was Arthur speaking, now. "The Sidhe will help us. They have to. I'm not letting you die." He turned back to Gaius. "Take this to Camelot." He took off his signet ring. "Give it to Gwen. Tell her I'm safe. She'll keep the place running until we get back."

"Of course, sire." The physician smiled down at Merlin, but he suddenly looked older, weary. "I'll have your favorite dinner waiting for you when you get back."

"Goodbye, Gaius," Merlin reached out, feeling for the familiar hand. It grasped his, and he squeezed it as best he could, and there was so much he tried to express with the gesture. Thank you, he wanted to say. I love you. I'll miss you. Gaius squeezed back, and Merlin knew that the physician had understood. "Goodbye," he repeated as Gaius mounted his horse, and even though he was no longer afraid of dying, he felt a surge of sorrow that he would never see the man again.

"We'll camp here for the night," Arthur said, shading his eyes against the setting sun. Merlin settled back onto his makeshift pillow of saddlebags. A pang of fear, stronger than the thudding ache in his midsection, overtook him.

He needed to tell Arthur the truth.

He hadn't thought of using magic to save the king from Mordred; as many years as he had spent keeping his sorcery a secret, the idea had never crossed his mind. But now there was a cold settling into his bones and he wanted so desperately to be free of his burden. He wanted Arthur to see him, just once, for who he was—who he truly was. Magic was a part of him. It was woven into every fiber of his being and Arthur was his best friend. He couldn't hate him.

 _Stupid._

"Arthur?" The king was dabbing away at the blood staining his chest, and even with as much gentleness as he could muster Merlin still flinched.

"Quit being such a girl, Merlin. I don't know what you're whining about, this isn't even that bad." His tone was light, albeit strained.

"I need to tell you something." The adrenaline and anxiety coursing through his body doused his chest in cold flame but he didn't stop. "Camlann, Arthur, the lightning… It was me."

Arthur's head snapped up and his brow was furrowed, but it cleared after a moment.

"Don't be daft, Merlin, that was the sorcerer."

"Arthur." Suddenly Merlin realized he was struggling not to cry. His jaw quivered with the effort of keeping his lips from dragging downwards and traitorous tears spilled from his eyes.

"You…" Arthur pulled back, his head half-turning away from Merlin. "No."

"I'm so sorry, Arthur…" He couldn't hold back, not anymore as the expression on the king's face became one of understanding—not the calm understanding Merlin had dreamt of but a betrayed, disgusted understanding. "Arthur, please understand—"

"You lied to me," Arthur's hands, still streaked in blood, were semi-raised as if he had been touching something foul. "All these years."

"I couldn't… I wanted to tell you, I tried, Arthur—" He was sobbing. Every shake tore down his chest like fire but it felt right, felt deserved, because Arthur was backing away, shaking his head with a dull but increasing anger.

"I trusted you." Arthur couldn't even look at Merlin, his fingers still splayed like they were dirty. "You're a sorcerer."

"I was only trying to keep you safe, you're my best friend, please—"

"You're a liar," he said, and there was disgust. Arthur walked away, and Merlin was left alone in the clearing. The sound of bitter sobs was quiet, ashamed, and permeated by two words spoken in hitching gasps.

"I'm sorry… _"_


	7. Little Voice

At some point during the night, Merlin woke to find Arthur returned. He was staring into the flames of the campfire, and there was a hard line to his jaw that made him look weary.

"I didn't think you'd come back," Merlin said quietly, and Arthur didn't turn.

"I didn't think I would, either." He paused, seeming to steel himself for something. "You saved my life."

Merlin smiled, a hopeful, fragile smile, and then Arthur continued.

"For that, I owe you a debt. I'll take you to Avalon. After that, we're even. We're done."

The words cut deeper than Mordred's blade and Merlin bit his lip, feeling the sharp sting of unwanted tears welling in his eyes again. His vision blurred but he willed them with all of his might to stay there, unseen.

"We leave at first light. Get some sleep." The words were harsh, uncaring. Merlin stared down at his hands, and he couldn't speak, and so he swiped at his eyes and settled back onto the packs.

The next morning Arthur shook him awake, and as Merlin opened his eyes he saw a flash of concern dissipate from the king's face. When it was replaced by the same coldness as the night before Merlin wondered if he hadn't imagined it after all. As Arthur lifted and secured him to his horse Merlin thought to himself how he felt none of the relief he'd always pictured he would feel after telling his friend the truth. Instead he felt alone, hideous, a terrible monster. A sorcerer.

He remembered his youth in Ealdor marred by a loneliness that playing with Will or the other children never seemed to fix. He went to bed every night feeling empty, and after he'd found Gaius, he honestly believed that the worst was over. But now, riding in silence, Merlin finally understood that that sort of loneliness had been depthless. He had had a friend, a man he would have followed through a thousand nightmares, but he had lost him. And while he would still follow Arthur anywhere, Arthur wouldn't have him.

They were riding through a plain and Merlin had drifted to sleep. It was dreamless, a mercy he felt he didn't deserve. Suddenly he was woken by his horse jolting to a stop, and he opened his eyes to find Arthur's hand on the reins.

"Not a word," he warned, pulling a blanket off of Merlin's shoulders which the sorcerer didn't remember falling asleep with. Arthur wrapped it around himself like a cloak and Merlin struggled to push himself up, questioning.

There was a small band of soldiers approaching them, and as they neared, Merlin recognized them as Morgana's mercenaries. It was obvious Arthur recognized them, too. They had probably left Camlann, their mistress gone missing, and were looking for some other form of profit.

"What do we have here?" One of them, the leader, called jovially. He put a hand out to the side of Arthur's horse.

"My friend's sick. We're heading towards the Western Isles, to find a cure."

"You're not one of Arthur's men?" the mercenary was beaming, but there was a gleam in his eyes, and he lifted the hem of Arthur's blanket at the exact moment that the king reached for his sword. Merlin didn't see exactly what happened next because someone came up behind him and pulled him from his horse. His head struck the ground and spots of darkness danced across his vision, and instinctively his arms shot out, and the mercenaries were thrown a dozen feet away. His midsection was pulsing, and he rolled onto his side, groaning.

"You killed them," Arthur said blankly, some inflection of dark surprise in his voice. "All of them."

"They would have killed us," Merlin whispered. Arthur's face swam into his vision, and the expression there was bleak.

"The horses are gone."

"Arthur…"

"We've got to get going. We've only got two days—"

"Until I die." Merlin forced himself to sit up, taking a heady, shaking breath.

"Gaius said there are shards of Mordred's sword in your chest. That they're killing you." Arthur cleared his throat and offered Merlin a hand, and they began shambling towards the tree line. "But we'll make it."

Merlin didn't answer, watching his feet as they walked. At some point he lost consciousness and drifted into a fitful sleep, and as he slept, there was a voice in the back of his head. It spoke softly, but it was pervasive.

 _ **Do you even want to go to Avalon?**_ It asked, and it took him longer than it ought to have to think of an answer.

 _Of course. Arthur needs me._

 _ **Arthur hates you.**_

 _I can still protect him. He doesn't have to know._

 _ **You've done so much already. You've fulfilled your destiny. Arthur was crowned king. He survived Camlann. He will create Albion. He doesn't need you.**_

 _Stop it. Go away._

 _ **You won't feel alone anymore.**_

"Go away," he repeated, only aloud. Arthur said something but Merlin wasn't listening, and then the king lifted him and it hurt.

 **It would be so easy. Just let go. Just sleep.**

"Stop, please," he whimpered, and this time, when Arthur spoke, he heard him.

"Look, unless you want to walk to Avalon," he was saying, and Merlin stiffened.

"I don't care about Avalon!" His voice was frenzied, and he fought to calm down. He was scared, scared of what he was saying and what it meant but he couldn't deny it. Not now, not anymore. He couldn't feel his fingers.

"Gaius said it's your last chance. Why-"

"I can't, I...I'm just tired," he murmured, and the ghost of a smile crept onto his lips. "I did everything I had to... just let me sleep, Arthur, I'm so tired..."

Yes, he would sleep, and he would see Freya, and Balinor, and Lancelot.

"When we get back home I'll give you a day off."

"An entire day?"

"Two," Arthur said, and then his voice faded away. Merlin felt his legs growing cold.

When he next woke Arthur was speaking again. Merlin was tempted to ask if the king ever stopped talking, but he kept his eyes closed.

"Shuddup... clotpole."

"You know, after all that talk about notching my belt, I do believe that you've gotten fatter."

"I'd still...beat you, in a footrace." The banter was nice. Familiar. It was almost like the last few days had never happened, and so Merlin plunged on. "Thank you."

"For what? Carting your idiot self around because you went and got into trouble?" There was fear in Arthur's voice.

"It has been... an honor, sire. You are the greatest king... that Camelot has ever known, and I-I... I'm so happy I..."

It was getting difficult to speak. The coldness had overtaken the fire in his chest and he felt like he was falling, numb, and there was nothing. And it was okay.


	8. Side Effects

If this was death, it wasn't half as peaceful as Merlin had hoped it would be.

He was vaguely aware of what was happening around him. It was not in the sense that he could hear Arthur screaming, or feel the lapping pull of the lake tide, or anything similar; he simply knew of them. They were distant, meaningless. But then there was something that wasn't distant. It was close, too close, and familiar, and it tore him out from where he hid, deep in himself.

Kilgharrah.

"Go," he cried. "I command you, Kil…"

"Not this time," Kilgharrah's voice broke through the dark.

"No, please, I don't want…" The dragon had to understand. He wanted to sleep. He didn't want to be saved, not at such a cost. "Go, you must… Kilgharrah, please…"

"It will be my pleasure."

 ** _Dragon, you must go. I command you, go. Kilgharrah, go._**

Kilgharrah had never been able to disobey before, not even when he desperately wanted to, but now Merlin's words were powerless and it was agony.

"Please," he said again, the dragontongue forgotten, and a feeling of warmth emanated from Kilgharrah. It was comforting, content, but it grew and it was hot. It was fire. It felt like the magic that had always lingered, just behind Merlin's eyes and fingers and heart, only it was too strong and it was burning. He felt like he had melted, awash in the heat, without form or figure. The aura that was Kilgharrah was drifting away and leaving him to burn. He tried to scream but he had no lips, no voice, and—

Just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. The flames had been smothered by an inky blackness and it was engulfing him, dragging him down into its depths, and he was too tired to fight against it and—

There was a new aura, shining a pale yellow amidst the shadows. It was light and it was familiar and Merlin struggled towards it and –

He awoke.

Arthur was hugging him, speaking, and it sounded… right. Familiar.

"Does this mean you're not going to banish me?" He asked.

"No," Arthur said. And for a moment, nothing else mattered. Merlin smiled, but then his brow furrowed, and a wave of pain overtook him. Arthur was talking, and it was loud, too loud, and the sun burned his eyes.

"I need to get to Gaius," Merlin tried to keep the panic out of his voice. He knew vaguely what Kilgharrah had done, but only just—and he had no idea if it was supposed to hurt this bad. They began walking towards Camelot but it was slow, too slow. The pressure in his head was getting worse, coupling with a pressure under his skin. It felt like his bones were trying to force themselves free and he was becoming stretched, paper thin and about to break. Every sound was an agony, even Arthur's voice.

"Merlin," the king said, and Merlin realized he had been speaking.

"What." He didn't mean to be short but he couldn't help it.

"When you said… when you told me you were tired—"

"I was delirious, Arthur. It didn't mean anything." Merlin cut in before Arthur could say much else. He felt ashamed for the things he'd been thinking, especially now that Kilgharrah had given his life to allow him to keep his own. The last of the great dragons, dead, because of a sorcerer who didn't want to live anyways.

"I don't want to hear that ever again," Arthur said decisively, and Merlin paused, wondering if he should speak. But the pain in his head was too great and he couldn't stop himself.

"Do you have any idea how alone I felt? Every day. Can you imagine realizing that your best friend could never know who you were, because if he did, he would hate you?"

"I don't hate you, Merlin. I could never hate you."

"You hate magic," Merlin plunged on. "Magic is a part of me. And when we get back to Camelot…"

 _You'll have to banish me,_ he thought. _Or execute me._

"We're a while away from Camelot yet."

Things felt okay for a few miles after that. The pain had become almost manageable; it was incessant, but tolerable. For a few minutes, he actually thought it was going away.

Suddenly, his legs fell out from under him and he collapsed under the weight of his own bones, which swelled against his skin. He couldn't stop himself; he screamed. The fire from the dragon's magic was back, stabbing at his entire body, and he could feel his muscles tightening and loosening as they seized against it.

There was a voice somewhere, panicked, muffled, and Merlin tried to call out when he realized his teeth were clamped together so hard he thought they would break.

"Gaius," he choked out, and someone screamed. It sounded animalistic, a terrible howl of agony. "Get Gaius."

Arthur wasn't moving and he was going to die right there in the clearing and there was no **time-**

" **GO!** " he yelled, and something welled up from deep in his chest, a surge of power he'd never felt before. Arthur was blown backwards and as he ran away, Merlin glimpsed a look of fear on his face.

"Please," he sobbed, and there was quiet.


	9. Morgana

As he lay in the clearing, Merlin watched a small bug climbing over a leaf. Distantly, he observed that the insect was at least 30 yards away, and yet he could count each individual spot on its back. He would have been confused, even curious, but the pain had only abated enough for him to stop screaming. Instead, he rocked slightly, his arms wrapped about himself as tightly as he could muster. An occasional moan broke the silence—or rather it broke the silence for a casual observer, but for Merlin, the world was **loud**. The leaf groaned as the insect scuttled across it. There was a squirrel in a tree several feet to his left, and its heartbeat was fast, nervous. And he could smell it, too: smell the musk of its fur, and the nut it had just buried. And he could smell the trail Arthur had left, a trail of sweat and fear.

It was getting dark outside, and quite probably cold, but his skin still burned. The tip of his nose, if he crossed his eyes, was dimly lit by a golden glow which he could only assume came from his eyes.

"What did you do to me, Kilgharrah?" Tentatively, Merlin rolled onto his back and breathed out slowly, deeply. The stars were half-hidden, visible through gaps in thick clouds which warned of rain. Somehow the sight of them calmed him, but only for a moment. Arthur would be gone for days, maybe even a week, and even turning onto his side had felt like a terrible chore.

He paused in his musings, turning his head to frown into the tree line. He hadn't tried using his magic since Avalon. He had no idea if it would work in his current state, but with Arthur gone, he had no way to fend for himself.

 _"Ongebringan_ ," he murmured, hesitantly raising his hand towards a stick on the opposite end of the clearing. A surge of pain brought the taste of bile to his mouth, but he ignored even this as the stick rose with disconcerting speed and splintered, disintegrating in thin air. His magic was there, but it had been amplified too greatly for him to control.

" _Ongebringan_ ," Merlin tried again, gritting his teeth and forming fists with his hands. There were spots of darkness in his vision, but he still saw another stick levitate and then shoot across the clearing so fast it was barely observable before it buried itself in the trunk of a nearby tree.

" _ **Ongebringan**_ ," he panted, but his eyes had shut before the third stick had even begun to rise.

When he awoke some hours later, it was the dead of night. The clouds had multiplied, blotting out the moon and most of the stars, and Merlin could see better than he had the day before. Everything was pale, in different shades of grey, and he could still count every knot and whirl in the surrounding trees' branches. He could also see the striations in a stick lying across his chest.

In his fever-addled state it took Merlin far longer than it ought to have to remember what it was that had knocked him out in the first place.

 _"Forbearnan_." A torrent of flame burst from his hand, a blazing column which jetted almost a hundred feet into the sky. It was still far too powerful, and painful, but still he smiled.

He didn't remember falling asleep, but it was almost mid-day when he opened his eyes again. His pupils shrank to slits against the sun and a blinding headache which had seemingly been dormant while he slept woke up with him. Something had roused him, something important, but he forgot it in a flurry of panic. He had swept his arm over his face, to shield his eyes, and had seen a mass of bruises on the side he'd been sleeping on.

His breath coming in shaky pants, he lifted both arms so that he could see the undersides.

They were mottled with ugly patches of black and purple and blue, the edges phasing into an unhealthy, shining green. The surrounding skin was almost translucent in its paleness, colored with delicate veins like spiderwebs. Feeling sick, Merlin gently pressed his fingertip into his wrist. There was barely enough pressure for him to register, and yet when he pulled away he saw the darkening tones of a rapidly forming bruise. The skin had felt papery-thin.

Gently he settled his arms back onto his chest and tried to get his breathing back under control. He shut his eyes, about to drift back to sleep, when he realized with a start what had woken him in the first place. A scent. Familiar.

Morgana.


	10. Fire

She was a ways off yet, but her scent was instantly recognizable. It was that of a decaying flower, only not as cloying; it had been shrouded with the musty smell of the earth, with the acrid tang of fear, and most of all, with the fiery, overbearing scent of anger.

"Emrys," she called, and it was a song, made harsh by hatred. "Oh, Emrys…"

 _Has there not been enough bloodshed already?_

Morgana giggled.

"Oh, no. No, no, Emrys. It has barely begun."

She was getting closer and Merlin wrapped a hand around the stick which was still lying across his chest, using it to drag himself towards the tree line.

"You cannot run from me," her voice in Merlin's head was a hiss, all traces of playfulness gone. "You have taken everything from me." There was a pause. "Tell me, Merlin. Where is your precious Arthur?"

 _Safe._ Merlin tried to sound defiant, but even as he thought the words, his heart fell. Farther away than the sounds of Morgana's approach, and in the opposite direction, he heard horses. It was too distant for Morgana to notice, but the horses were moving fast.

"A pity. I wanted you to watch him die."

Merlin had reached the edge of the clearing and turned, meaning to hide his tracks, but just then the sorceress stepped into the clearing.

"Oh, Morgana. What happened to you?" Even as vulnerable as he felt, Merlin couldn't help but feel terrible pity for a woman who had once seemed so strong, so regal. Her face was dirtied, and long-dried tears had cut paths down her cheeks. She looked decades older.

"You have stolen… **everything** …that was ever mine," Morgana seemed to be on the edge of tears. "I have no home, no family. My throne… Camelot was mine. My men have all deserted me, and Mordred…"

"Morgana—"

" **You don't get to speak**!" Her eyes flashed gold as she shouted, and there was a pressure about his neck, hoisting him to his feet and against a tree. The outer edges of his vision darkened.

"I don't want…to fight you."

"It's too late for that!" Morgana's hand was outstretched, and as she drew her fingers together, the pressure increased. "I told you. You took everything from me… and I have nothing left. I have nothing to lose!" She laughed, and the sound froze Merlin's blood. "My heart cannot be broken, for it has already been burnt out of my chest. My soul cannot be sold, because it's as black as yours. I have no love to lose, no hell to fear. I will not stop until Camelot is mine, and until the last of the Pendragons is nothing but ash. And Emrys… If only I could save you for last."

The sound of the horses was getting louder. Merlin could identify four different scents—Arthur, Percival, Leon… and Gaius. He had wanted so desperately not to hurt Morgana, not now, not when he couldn't control his magic, but he couldn't justify putting the physician in danger. If he waited any longer, the sorceress would hear the approaching party, and he would probably be dead before he could protect them.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

He wasn't planning it. He could barely think; his head was pounding from the lack of air. He opened his mouth for a spell.

A jet of flame escaped the moment his lips parted, and for a moment Merlin was completely dumbfounded as it billowed around Morgana's form. There was a horrible, broken scream and the pressure which had kept him aloft disappeared, and he fell. The hard impact jarred him to his senses and he crawled towards her, his eyes widened in terror. He felt no heat but she was still screaming, thrashing in agony. There was a strange scent in the air.

 **" _Acwence þa bælblyse_**!" The fire stopped as soon as it begun and Merlin began to sob in huge, panicked gasps as he surveyed the smoldering, quivering form.

"A…a…" There were no lips, merely a parting in the face. "A…"

"Morgana, I'm s-so sorry… I didn't mean to, I d-didn't know…"

She didn't seem to hear him. "A…a…"

"J-Just hang on, Gaius is coming. It'll be okay, I swear, I'm so sorry, oh, _gods_ , I'm so sorry—"

"Ait-t… A…t…" The eyelids opened with a terrible crackling sound and the eyes underneath almost made Merlin throw up. The whites were red, and almost flattened, and the iris had become a misshapen orb of milky, unseeing blue. As he watched, the blue flashed a weak gold. "A-Aithusa…"

There was the sound of wings, distant but approaching with unbelievable speed.

Arthur and his group sprinted into the clearing as the white dragon grabbed Morgana as best she could and flew away. Merlin watched until his vision faded into black. And for a moment, mercifully, he knew no more.


	11. Resurrection

_Author's note: It was brought to my attention that when this chapter was first published a couple of hours ago, it was coded (unbeknownst to me!). I did my best to fix it as quick as I could. Apologies, and if you see any residual codes, that's why. Again, so sorry. Note to self- always preview before posting!- X_

* * *

"It's not far up ahead," Arthur was calling over his shoulder, when the sound of screaming broke out from somewhere in front of him. All traces of exhaustion left his body then. It wasn't Merlin's voice. It didn't even sound human. "We've got to hurry." He urged his horse to speed up and she protested, and not without reason; they had barely rested since leaving Camelot. There was foam flecked over her muzzle, and a quick look showed the same on the other three horses.

The scream cut off, and was replaced by Merlin's voice—too distant to make out the words, but not far enough to hide a panic that was contagious. And when the cries were followed by a stillness, Arthur began to kick at his horse's sides in a frenzy.

"Sire—" Gaius was protesting, and Arthur could sense his horse slowing down, and Merlin was close enough that Arthur could hear him sobbing, and he dismounted and began to run. There was a smell in the air—a hellish combination of sulfur and charcoal and copper. It smelled like someone was burning.

The odor grew stronger and Arthur burst through the last of the trees. A white dragon lifted a mangled body and flew away, just a few yards ahead, and it took him several moments to realize that the twisted, smoking form was Morgana. He tore his eyes away to find Merlin, slumped to the ground. The physician was already kneeling over him.

"Merlin?" Gaius was speaking softly, lifting one of the sorcerer's eyelids.

"How…" Arthur had been about to ask after his friend's welfare when he had caught sight of the bruises. Against the pale skin, they stood out with frightening clarity. There was a ring of green and blue about his neck, newly-formed, but this was almost eclipsed by the myriad of purples on his arms. Gaius lifted Merlin's shirt and sucked in a breath when he found his whole side to be the same. "Did Morgana do this?" he asked softly.

"I don't suspect so, sire. At least not all of it." The old man rested two fingers on Merlin's wrist, as if to take a pulse, and when he pulled away there were two rapidly darkening bruises. "His skin is like parchment."

"Why?" Percival stood a ways back, a look on his face that Arthur couldn't quite make out.

"What the king described to me sounded like something called _emἀνæγρnσιc_." Gaius motioned for Leon to bring him the pack he'd brought, whereupon he pulled out an old text. "I know very little about it. Even in the time of the Old Religion, this sort of thing was beyond rare." He began flipping through the pages until he alighted on one in particular. "It means resurrection. In the legends, a dragon could become attached to its dragonlord. If the dragonlord were to die, it was said that the dragon could save their life, but at a terrible cost."

"The dragon died," Arthur said quietly, and Gaius nodded.

"Such a sacrifice had to be made of the dragon's own free will. They could not be commanded to perform _emἀνæγρnσιc_ —"

"Or commanded not to." Arthur remembered Merlin shouting at Kilgharrah.

"Or commanded not to," Gaius repeated, and a look of sadness shadowed his face. "The dragonlords became the _emμοναχικόs_. The lonely ones. Neither human nor dragon. They were doomed to outlive the people they loved, or worse, to be cast out by them in fear. It was as much a selfish curse as a gift, which was why it was so rarely bestowed. I cannot imagine why Kilgharrah—"

"For me," Arthur murmured, looking down at Merlin. A wave of guilt washed over him.

 _You will create the future you were destined to, Arthur Pendragon, but you cannot succeed without Merlin. It is his destiny to protect you._

"So what's going to happen to him?" Leon had apparently left to find kindling, as he returned to the clearing with his arms full of small sticks. Arthur realized it was dusk.

"I have no experience in this, sire," Gaius told the king lowly. "As I said, I have only the slightest knowledge of _emἀνæγρnσιc_. But as best I can tell, he's changing. I don't know how. I don't know why. I don't know what to do." There was an edge in the physician's voice that Arthur almost didn't recognize. It was helplessness. "The most we can hope for right now is to bring down his fever and make him comfortable. Beyond that… I'm afraid it's up to Merlin."


	12. Awakening

Percival was woken a little before dawn by a low, keening cry, and he lifted his head to find the source.

"I'm right here, my boy," Gaius was murmuring. Merlin was lying next to him, his head snapping from one side to the other. "It will pass."

For a moment Percival hesitated, wondering if he should just pretend to be asleep.

Of all the knights, Gwaine had been the fondest of Merlin. The two were a funny pair—Gwaine lived in the tavern, but Merlin hardly drank; Gwaine loved to fight, and Merlin was a pacifist (or a coward, in Arthur's words); Gwaine lived in the pursuit of women, and Percival had always wondered if Merlin had ever taken a lover. And yet… the barkeep knew to send for Merlin if Gwaine was too drunk to make it home. If Merlin was in danger, Gwaine was the first to be up in arms—even before Arthur. Percival knew he should be the one to tell Merlin about his friend, but he didn't have the heart. He had decided to wait until the servant was better, and even though he knew he had done everything he could for Gwaine, seeing Merlin made him feel ashamed.

"Any change?" Percival hesitantly asked Gaius while staying back a respectful distance.

"Some, but it's impossible for me to tell if those changes are for good or for ill." The physician sighed, lifting Merlin's arm and sliding down the sleeve. "Look."

The clouds from the night before had multiplied instead of dissipating, and the only illumination came from the fire Sir Leon had built. In its flickering orange glow, it became instantly apparent that Merlin's skin was… different. Where there had been a mass of bruising only hours before, there was now a wash of colorless porcelain, unblemished save for an iridescent patch which swept partially up his forearm from the base of his wrist.

"What _is_ that?" His guilt forgotten, Percival took a step closer. From a distance, the patch had caught the light of the fire and shone in various purples and blues like the feathers of a raven; up close, however, he realized it was black, and composed of a number of fragments. "Are those…"

"Scales," Gaius confirmed softly. "I fear they're getting larger, and more numerous."

"Gaius, if he changes into a dragon… what happens then?" Percival stared down at the familiar face. The deep hollows in his cheeks and under his eyes were dark.

"I don't know," Gaius said, and he looked exhausted.

"You should rest," the knight didn't break his gaze from Merlin. "Just for a little. I'll watch him."

It was obvious the physician wanted to protest, but he seemed to think better of it.

"Wake me the moment something changes," he warned, and began to shamble away. "And Percival…" Gaius turned back. "Thank you."

"He's my friend," Percival offered him a small smile, and Gaius nodded before retreating.

He waited until he was certain Gaius had fallen asleep before speaking.

"Hey," he said, and he reached out to nudge Merlin's shoulder. Instinctively he recoiled. The skin was as hard as stone. "Merlin, I know you can hear me. I need you to… I need you to hear me. I have to tell you—" Percival broke off and shook his head, trying to clear it. An image of Gwaine had crept into his mind and he couldn't send it away.

 _"I failed," Gwaine said, and his eyes were dull. Defeated. And Percival wasn't fast enough, he couldn't find the right words and so Gwaine died thinking he was a failure. He died without knowing he was a hero._

"Stop it," he murmured to himself, and passed his hands over his face. "Merlin, Gwaine is dead. I couldn't protect him. I'm so…" Percival's voice died away.

In the time that he'd been thinking about Gwaine, the scales had multiplied. Merlin was now almost entirely covered with them. They stopped at his neck, just below his jaw, but even as Percival watched, the skin on his cheekbones was darkening.

Merlin's eyes opened.

Percival was not expecting the brilliant flash of gold, abnormal even for a sorcerer, and his mouth went dry.

"Gaius!" He scrambled to his feet, even as Merlin staggered to his own. "Merlin, can you—"

Merlin sprinted away.

In the sky, there were the first rumblings of thunder. The promised storm had arrived, and as the rain began to fall, it grew colder.


	13. Emrys

Arthur didn't mean to fall asleep, but once they'd set up camp, his body suddenly seemed to remember that he hadn't really rested in days. He passed out before Leon had even gotten the campfire

going. As his eyes slid shut, he mentally promised himself he wouldn't sleep long. _Just a few minutes. Just a quick nap, and then—_

 _" **MERLIN!"**_

He woke with a start. Around him, everyone was in a panic. He caught a glimpse of Percival, whose voice he had heard, disappearing into the trees. Leon took off after the other knight.

"Gaius! What—"

"It's Merlin, sire!" Gaius helped the king to his feet and started following the other two members of their party as fast as he was able. Arthur took his arm, speeding him along.

"Did someone take him? I don't—"

His words were drowned out by a low, growling sound, as if someone were taking in a deep breath. It reverberated through the trees, but before the last echoes of it could die away, it was followed by a greater and more terrible noise. It was a roar unlike any Arthur had ever heard. The sound of it shook the very forest and it was violent, powerful and raw, but it also sounded… lonely.

"I'll catch up. Go!" Gaius urged him on and Arthur began to run.

* * *

 _He was dreaming. Drowning in a sea of gold. The water was pushing in on him from all sides, swallowing him whole, and as he struggled to stay afloat he caught sight of his fingers, paddling desperately on the surface. The gold was attaching itself to him, crawling up his skin._

 _"_ Ic þe healte!" _Merlin cried, but it didn't stop. It crept up his neck and over his face and he was suffocating._

His eyes opened but the dream wasn't over. It couldn't be, because when he brought his hands up to his face, he found his arms to be covered in blackness. Something was happening to him, something terrible, and he opened his mouth to try to speak and found that he had no words. His mind was hazy.

 _This is no dream._

Whatever Kilgharrah had done… it was in its final stages. He had to get away, because he didn't know what was happening but he was having difficulty recalling names—

 _Gwaine, gods, **no—**_

faces—

 _I can't remember him, why can't I—_

words. He was losing himself and he was terrified that he would hurt someone like he hurt…a woman, he'd hurt a woman he once loved and there were others in the camp that he loved and he had to leave. So he ran as the first drops of rain began to fall, and the sound of it pinging off of his scales drove him even faster. Merlin began to think less and less. He was being followed and that was bad, it felt bad and then with no warning he was dying. It felt like something inside of him was exploding and then everything was black as he roared.

* * *

Two scents. Two men, staring at him with huge and wary eyes. He roared again and one of them, the larger, took a half-step back.

" _꜡ⱷⱵⱴⱶ꜠_!"

They were speaking to him but he couldn't understand, and he bared his teeth at them, a single and generous warning.

The smaller man was moving slowly, making a show of dropping an item dangling from his side, but Emrys didn't understand this either and he advanced, his hackles raised.

" _MⱷⱵⱴⱶn_?" Another figure emerged from the trees and Emrys paused. For a moment it felt like he knew the word, and more than that, he knew the man. The scent was comforting. Calming. What was the word?

The man was still speaking softly, walking forwards with a hand outstretched. Emrys snorted, backing away slightly.

" _Mⱷrlⱶn_." He held his hand out in front of Emrys for a moment before touching his snout gently. "Merlin, I'm here."

"Arthur," Emrys tried to say, but he didn't know the words and he thought them instead. Arthur jerked back.

"What is it?" The smaller man stepped forward in concern and it was Leon.

"You didn't hear him?" Arthur had broken into an almost drunken smile. "He knows me."

* * *

"It's Merlin. He's still in there," Arthur breathed, staring at the creature in front of him.

The black dragon stared back at him with eyes that glowed gold, pupil-less, in the night. He was small, the king supposed; standing on four legs, he was only two or three feet taller than himself. Its face was narrow, slender like the rest of its form, and framed by beardlike whiskers and a long pair of horns which swept downwards. The body was smooth, graceful, and feline in most respects, including the ridged tail which sprawled over the forest floor. The most impressive of all, though, were the wings. They towered above the clearing, elegant and tinged faintly gold.

As Arthur watched, the dragon's eyes began to change, just slightly. They were no longer an empty glow, but instead developed the catlike slits that Arthur had seen in his friend's eyes after he'd awoken at Avalon.

Gaius arrived then, stopping next to Leon and Percival. He had been breathing heavily but when he saw his ward, the sounds stopped.

"Does he…" Arthur had never heard the physician speechless before.

"I think he's the same," the king gestured to Gaius, who slowly joined him. "I don't think he can speak. Not aloud."

 _Gaius?_

Merlin's voice half-echoed in Arthur's mind, and the king looked to Gaius, expecting an expression of joy at the sound. There was nothing.

"He can talk to you?" Gaius reached out with a trembling hand, and the dragon dipped its head, rubbing at the physician's touch.

"In my head," Arthur paused. "Why just me?"

"Your destinies have always been intertwined. I suspect that that bond is the culprit," Gaius murmured, a happy smile on his face even as tears began to well in his eyes. "Oh, my boy."

 _Tell him I'm okay. That I feel fine._

"He says—"

"That he's okay. I know." Gaius nodded, pushing a wet strand of hair from his face. The rain had increased from a light drizzle to a downpour, and the dragon nudged at the old man with his snout, pushing him towards the shelter created by his wings.

* * *

One by one, the small party of men fell asleep beneath his wing. Emrys sat, his tail curled over his claws, and glanced upwards. The sky was dark, the moon obscured, but there was a solitary hole in the gloom through which a handful of stars shone.

 _Can't sleep?_

It was Arthur's voice in his mind this time and Emrys looked down. The king was sitting and looking for the stars, too.

"You're in my head, too? Is nothing sacred?" He was thrilled when he felt himself laughing—a deep laugh which rumbled through his whole body. Human.

 _Apparently not. You've become taller than me._

"And stronger."

 _That remains to be seen._

The mirth faded and Arthur must have sensed it.

 _Merlin… I need to apologize. I never—_

"Don't. You had every right to react like you did."

 _I just… You can't lie to me again. Please. I trust you more than anyone. No more lies, and no more secrets._

"Then I should tell you…"

 _What **now**?_

"You're not as good a fighter as you think you are. Or as lucky. Did you honestly think branches fell out of trees that often? Naturally?"

 _Merlin?_

"Yes, sire?"

 _Shut up._


	14. Old Friend

It was late. Or early, rather; the knights would be waking up soon, and still Emrys hadn't slept. He hadn't dared to, because although he had enjoyed the blissful and pain-free night, he felt… transient. Not quite whole. It was hardly noticeable; in fact, it had taken him hours to even register that something had felt off—besides sprouting two wings and a tail, of course. But after Arthur had fallen asleep there were no distractions and all at once Emrys was distinctly aware of a strange feeling deep in his chest.

He had died on the banks of Avalon. There was a dull fear when he conjured the memory and he shoved it aside viciously, habitually, but the fact remained that he had died and come back and changed. In the space of a few days he had been killed and brought back to life as a dragon, and for the first time, Emrys began to wonder if some part of him hadn't gotten left behind. He felt tired—not in the way that he should have been, not fatigued, but strained. Like he was Atlas, holding the world on his shoulders. And yet the strain was less pronounced than it had been just after he changed. The burden felt lighter.

 _Merlin._

Emrys snorted in surprise, rearing back against an unbidden voice in his head. It wasn't Arthur's.

"Kilgharrah?" he breathed.

 _For a little while_ , the voice purred, and Emrys felt a surge of grief-muted happiness to hear his friend _. Merlin, you must listen carefully._

 _"_ Kilgharrah, I'm so sorry you had to—"

 _No, it is I that should apologize. I have done you a necessary but terrible wrong, my friend. The life of the emμοναχικόs will be difficult even for you._

"Lonely," Emrys translated, his voice a murmur.

 _You will walk a line between dragonkind and the human race. A very thin line, for the rest of your life, and at times it will seem so easy to step one way or the other. This you can never do._

"I don't understand."

 _You will find that as time passes in your draconic form, it will become harder and harder to change back._

"I can… How do I… change?"

 _There are no spells or incantations for magic as ancient as this. Simply put, you must focus on shifting. It will be difficult at first, but it will get easier._

"And if I don't change in time? How do I know when—"

 _You can feel it now, can't you? That pull in your gut?_

The dragon's words cut like ice.

 _I don't remember what my name used to be, or why I didn't change back, but I think… I think it was the aloneness._

"You were…"

 _Human. Yes… I'd forgotten..._ The voice was introspective, musing… and sad _. If only I'd met you sooner, young warlock._

Emrys could feel the dragon leaving. "Wait! Kilgharrah, I need you. You can't—"

 _When you need me, I'll be here._ A pause, loaded with a thousand questions Emrys didn't know how to pose and a thousand things Kilgharrah wanted to say and couldn't remember. _That idiot king will need you, young warlock, both human and dragon. Camelot will need you. Albion will need you. But Merlin… Don't lose yourself. When the time comes… Let the dragons die. Aithusa will be the last._

"Kilgharrah…" Before he could say anything else, he felt the dragon's presence burn out in his mind. There was a slight echo, like the outline of a flame on his eyelids after he'd blown his candle out and been left in darkness. He looked down at his charges, sleeping soundly in his shadow. For a moment he did nothing, trying to capture how his wings felt as the rain hammered and ran off the membrane in rivulets.

He shut his eyes.

Kilgharrah had said that there were no magic words, but Emrys wished he had some anyways. He tried to focus on shifting, like the dragon had said. Talons to fingers, tail melting away, but the images felt flat. Lifeless.

 _I waited too long. Now I'm stuck, I'll be a dragon forever and I'll forget my name—_

That idiot king will need you, Kilgharrah had said. Arthur and Camelot and Albion. And just then they needed a human.

There was a strange shiver which coursed from the tip of his nose to the final plate of his tail, and his scales lifted ever so slightly in protest against it. It looked like a bird shaking water clear of its feathers, which wasn't far from the truth; rainwater billowed into the air in misting, billowing clouds, and woke all but Leon. Emrys didn't notice. He felt like he was falling asleep, and the pressure in his chest was driving him down, down into himself and into the black.

* * *

Arthur jumped, startled as a spray of icy water soaked his clothes. He looked up.

"Merlin? Is everything—" he broke off. The dragon was staring straight ahead, its eyes wide. The pupils had disappeared entirely. As he watched, the dragon shook once—a weird tremor, and then the ebony scales began to lift as the other dragon's had on the beach. Arthur's heart thudded in his chest. Kilgharrah's scales had done that because he was dying. "Merlin! Say something, what happened, I—"

"What is it?" Gaius had been roused by Arthur's shouts and his eyes widened upon seeing his ward.

"Gaius, he's dying. I can't lose him now, you have to help him! _Please!"_

"He's not dying, sire." The physician stepped out from under the dragon's wing, impervious to the rain. His eyes were fixed overhead in an expression of awe. "He's _changing_."

As they watched the scales began to rise, swirling around Merlin in a lazy spiral and obscuring him from view. When they at last began to part, disintegrating and blowing away like leaves, a very human Merlin was left standing in the clearing.

Well, mostly human.


	15. The Road Back

"It worked," Merlin said, and he sounded incredulous, staring down at his hands.

"You're…" _Human_ , Arthur wanted to say, but it wasn't true, and so he settled for "…shorter than me."

"We're the same height and you know it." He grinned and the fangs were there, flashing playfully in the dark.

The warlock's face was partially illuminated by the candescence of his own eyes, more angular than Arthur remembered.

 _Dragon's eyes._

Merlin was shirtless; in fact, his clothes had probably been torn to shreds when he shifted, and had been replaced by a spray of scales which started a little below his navel. As they traveled downwards they became more concentrated, like ebony plates, resembling black pants—almost normal, aside from the fact that his legs morphed into oversized feet shaped like the back paws of a cat ( _or a dragon)_. There were swirls of scales glimmering on his right shoulder, above his heart, on his forearms, and all these details were lost on Arthur as he noticed something else.

A pair of horns protruded from the tousled crown of hair, curving downwards almost a foot.

"What is it?" Merlin had finally noticed the stunned looks on the knights' faces.

"You look a little different, my boy," Gaius said finally. He made a vague gesture above his own head and Merlin mimicked it, his hand freezing as he touched one of the horns.

"I can't go back to Camelot looking like this."

"Agreed. You look worse than you normally do." Arthur offered a small smile but nobody laughed. Merlin was holding his hands out in front his face again, his expression one of intense concentration.

"You can wear my cloak," Leon began, but it was proven unnecessary as the horns seemed to evaporate from the air above Merlin's head. The scales on his arms and chest shimmered and dissolved, and the glow dissipated from his eyes. Arthur knew it was probably the result of a spell, but all the same he felt a thrill of pleasure when his friend looked up with irises that were a very familiar shade of blue.

"Oh, gods, it's awful." He acted aghast, and Merlin scowled.

"At least I don't look like a prat."

Leon strode forwards, handing the sorcerer his cloak, which the latter gratefully wrapped over his shoulders.

* * *

She should have known it wouldn't be that easy.

Morgana had heard him scream and it had pierced through the empty cavity of her chest and she remembered feeling like she had caught fire.

 _How funny, I know **exactly** what that feels like now._

The blaze consumed her, fueled by rage and grief, and she pried the sword from Mordred's grave and held it aloft.

 _"Ætíe mé þá þé ic séce,"_ she shouted, and images began to flash across the surface of the blade.

 _Merlin and Arthur sitting in front of a campfire, talking. The sorcerer looked ill._

 _Arthur dragging the servant into the waters of a lake. Sobbing. For a brief moment Morgana thought Merlin had died but she felt only a hollow pleasure in the thought, and then to her relief the picture changed and the boy sat bolt upright, his eyes glowing. She saw him walking back towards Camelot, haggard. She was him lying on the ground, screaming, screaming, and she had heard no greater sound in her life._

"Emrys," Morgana cast the name out, knowing that Merlin would hear her wherever he was. A trail of gold wound through the forest ahead.

She walked for most of the day, tireless. The trail was blazing brighter now. He couldn't be far off. "Oh, _Em_ rys?"

 _Has there not been enough bloodshed already?_

His voice in her head was weak. Ghostly.

"Oh, no. No, no, Emrys," she crooned, as if speaking to a child. "It has only just begun."

She sensed him moving. His fear was ripe in the air and it intoxicated her. Morgana was gliding across the forest floor like a spirit, and the trees of the forest were invisible to her. There was only the line of gold. It was blinding.

"You cannot run from me," she spat. "You have taken _everything_ from me!" The words were unbidden, quivering with rage, and she composed herself and dropped her voice to a playful murmur. "Tell me, Merlin. Where is your precious Arthur?"

 _Safe._

"A pity. I wanted you to watch him die." She did not cast these words into the sorcerer's mind but instead spoke them aloud. The trail had stopped. Merlin was lying on the forest floor in front of her, his face scared as he tried to drag himself across the clearing with a stick. It was pitiful.

"Oh, Morgana. What happened to you?" The same pity she felt for Merlin was reflected in his voice and she straightened, her eyes widening in hatred and disgust.

"You have stolen… **everything** …that was ever mine." Her vision blurred as tears sprang, unbidden, to her eyes. "I have no _home_ , no _family_. My throne… Camelot was _mine_. My men have all deserted me, and Mordred…"

"Morgana—"

" **You don't get to speak**!" The sound of his voice had conjured a flood of images Morgana didn't want to see. Morgause. Mordred. And perhaps worst of all, the servant's sweet, innocuous little smile as he handed her a poisoned canteen. The images _hurt_ and they were all Merlin's fault and she didn't even realize she was choking him until she heard the strangled cry.

"I don't want…to fight you," he said.

"It's too late for that!" Morgana drew her fingers together. "I told you. You took everything from me… and I have nothing left. I have nothing to lose!" She laughed and even to her own ears it sounded manic. Hysterical. _And why shouldn't it_? "My heart cannot be broken, for it has already been burnt out of my chest. My soul cannot be sold, because it's as black as yours. I have no love to lose, no hell to fear. I will not stop until Camelot is mine, and until the last of the Pendragons is nothing but ash. And Emrys… If only I could save you for last."

How she wanted to hear him scream. See him writhe in the dirt and the leaves. She could see her hands shaking in her peripheral. It was because she hated him, because-

 _Because I loved him once._

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

There was light, and a gust of air, and it _burned._ Oh, gods, it burned. At first she couldn't fathom that it was fire because the pain was so great and so sudden, like a bath of ice, but there was a strange, sickly sweet odor in her nose and she realized she it was the scent of her skin burning off of her flesh. She could see nothing. There were popping noises, flat under the roar of the flames, and another sound, too; she thought at first that it was Merlin screaming, but the pitch was too high. Smoke and fire alike roiled down her throat, and the only reason she knew she wasn't dead was because she could still hear her own cries. They had a hoarse quality and they tapered into keening whines and she wished they would stop, but her voice was no longer her own.

 _Kill me,_ she wanted to say, but the dragon-forged sword had melded onto her thigh.

The fire had stopped but Morgana was oblivious. The pain had long since faded into numbness, but she was aware of her entire body throbbing, pulsing, and only one cogent thought passed through her mind even though her tongue was too cracked and blackened to utter a word.

 _Aithusa, help me._

Her eyelids felt like they'd gotten stuck in something sticky but she forced them open anyways. There was no flash of light, no view of sky or flames, and she wondered if her eyes hadn't melted away. There was no sound. Just the smell.

 _Aithusa, please, help me.._

Surprisingly, it wasn't the flesh that had been exposed to the air that hurt the most; it was the surviving skin around it, bubbling and cracked, and she could feel the nerves coming angrily to life. She wanted to shy away from the pain, writhe in agony, but the best she could manage was a sickly twitch.

 ** _Aithusa._**

She felt the dragon's presence even as it lifted her from the clearing, and finally a painless blackness enveloped her.


	16. New Beginnings

The walls of Camelot had come into view and as he broke through the trees Arthur suddenly realized that Merlin wasn't next to him. He turned to find his friend standing at the edge of the forest, an odd look on his face.

"Well, come on, Merlin," he frowned. "We haven't got all day."

"I think it might be better if I…" He was looking away, and Arthur moved towards him.

"Merlin, nothing's changed."

"Everything's changed." He smiled wryly at his king. "I have magic."

"You've always had—"

"I have magic, and now you know about it. Tell me, Arthur, how are you going to prosecute a Druid when your manservant himself is a sorcerer?"

The king was silent for a moment. "I can change the laws."

"Can you?" Merlin stepped towards him. "Could you really change the laws you grew up on?"

"I'm the king of Camelot, Merlin, I can do whatever I—"

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you're ready for this. That your kingdom is ready for this. Magic has been outlawed for a long time, Arthur."

"I'm ready," the king said.

"I never thought I'd hear those words," Merlin said slowly. "I spent so long dreaming about them. I spent so long dreaming about the day I wouldn't have to hide who I was, and now… Now it's still the same. Everything's changed, and nothing has." For a moment he let the concealment spell slip and his eyes flashed gold. Twin shadows arched behind his back, the ghosts of wings, and then he seemed to collect himself and returned to normal.

"So why hide?" Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I can't very well—"

"My cabinet could use a magical advisor. Court Sorcerer. Hell, Royal Dragon, if it comes to that."

"Our crest is a dragon," Leon offered sagely, and Merlin stepped out of the shadows.

"You're not serious."

"I hope you don't think this means you're relieved from your duties as my manservant." Arthur warned as Merlin finally stepped out from the treeline.

"Do you expect me to save Camelot while still picking up your laundry?" The sorcerer grinned impishly, and then paused in mock thought. "Oh, wait. I've been doing that for years."

* * *

Aithusa flew as fast as she could, her wings strained from the effort of carrying a burden almost her own size. The quiet moaning had stopped some time during the night and she watched the ground carefully, desperate for some sort of shelter.

She found it just after cresting the peaks of the White Mountain. Far below lay the Valley of the Fallen Kings and she made for it, crooning softly in an attempt to reassure her wounded mistress.

Being too large to fit into Morgana's hut, Aithusa made to touch down in the clearing in front of it. She soon realized, however, that it would be difficult to land without further injuring her charge, and scouted the area for a relatively kind patch of earth. The dragon found it in a patch of downed leaves and flew directly over it, dropping Morgana about a foot above the bank. It had been the gentlest she could manage and yet as she landed few yards away she heard the sorceress screaming.

She had healed Morgana before, on the night they'd met in the Darkling Woods and several times since, but she had never attempted to heal someone as badly wounded as this. The only reason Morgana was still alive was because she was a High Priestess, and even so it was likely the sorceress would die in a matter of hours if Aithusa did nothing. She closed her eyes, dug her feet into the earth, and exhaled.

* * *

 _Fire._

She was adrift in fire. Every inch of her skin burned and throbbed. There was nothing but pain and she begged the Triple Goddess to let her die, begged Merlin or Aithusa or Arthur to kill her and yet she lived. And in the midst of all her pain, she saw.

 _A white dragon. It had to be Aithusa, but this dragon was enormous. Strong. It was sleek and it glittered above a battlefield hewn with fire and blood and corpses, and it seemed to be dancing through the air with its own shadow- a black dragon. It was smaller, battered, its scales almost maroon in the setting sun, and as Morgana watched, Aithusa seemed to strike a winning blow. The black dragon fell to the earth. Somewhere, she heard Arthur screaming, and his grief seemed to wash over the battleground._

The images faded into nothing as a breeze, cold as winter, blew over her mutilated skin. The fire abated.


	17. Homecoming

The stares as the small party walked across the square were nothing short of spellbound. Many were openmouthed; a few standing in front of market stalls dropped baskets of fruit in surprise. And then, slowly, but building like wildfire, came the applause. Merlin winced against the volume but smiled nonetheless as they lined the cobblestone road, their arms waving as they shouted and cheered. The sound was tumultuous, joyful.

 _The king lives,_ they shouted.

 _Long live the king._

 ** _Long live King Arthur._**

The crowd stretched all the way to the palace square, and their cries grew to an unbelievable pitch as Guinevere emerged from the palace doors. She seemed for a moment as if she was trying to remain stately, standing poised at the top of the steps in a ruby-red gown.

A second passed, two, and then she was flying down the stairs, her arms outstretched. Tears ran down her face and her smile was the broadest Merlin had ever seen.

"I knew you were coming back," she whispered, hugging Arthur fiercely.

"I told you I would," he murmured back, and he swept her off of her feet, carrying her back towards the castle.

The doors shut and the cheering began to slowly die away outside.

"I suppose you'll need this again," Gwen said, holding out Arthur's signet ring before embracing him a second time. Just as suddenly, she turned and hugged Merlin tightly. "Thank you," she whispered.

"I don't—"

"She knows, Merlin," Gaius shrugged, looking relatively unabashed.

"What? How?" Arthur seemed taken aback, and Gwen smiled.

"She's smarter than you give her credit for, sire. She figured it out after Camlann."

"So how are we going to go about this?" The queen asked matter-of-factly, looking regal once more as she sat in her throne.

"I'm sorry?"

"Repealing Uther's ban on magic. It seemed best to wait until you returned."

* * *

Morgana opened her eyes to find blackness.

She sat up slowly, warily, one hand held out in front of her face. As she lowered it she found a shape on her midsection, cool against her fingertips. It made a purring noise, and she recognized the sound as Aithusa. She let the dragon sleep, raising her hands once again to feel for her face. For a moment trepidation paralyzed her but she plunged forwards, her fingers splayed.

"No," she whispered, and began to sob in dry, broken wails.

The skin was taut, almost sticky in its ridged smoothness. The base of her nose felt flared, and she found the nostrils stretched and flattened upwards against her face. The lips, too, were pulled into a permanent sneer. Her eyelids were thick, shielding sightless eyes which unbeknownst to her had taken on a milky, opaque sheen. Even her hair had been burned away in the front, and what was left took the form of frizzed tufts on the back of her head.

Aithusa had woken to her mistress's distress and felt a deep sense of guilt that she had been unable to properly heal the sorceress. She had done her best… and left the once-beautiful woman terribly scarred.

Tentatively, she nosed at Morgana's hands, meaning to comfort her, but as her head touched the woman's fingers, Morgana jerked back with a cry.

"Aithutha," she lisped, her eyes wide. "Do it again!"

Bewildered, the dragon stretched out towards the sorceress, who took her head in both hands.

When the dragon's scales had brushed her hands the first time, a flash of light had flooded her brain. The second time, she could make out images. They hurt her head; the detail was too great, too focused, but she had seen trees and the sky and a wretched creature that could only be herself. She was seeing through the dragon's eyes. The moment her fingers left the scales, the vision dissolved.

"I can _theeee_ ," Morgana breathed, almost singing, her eyes screwed shut as she laughed.

* * *

Between Arthur, Merlin, and the small council they'd assembled to discuss Uther's ban, the queen was the most eager to set about allowing magic in Camelot. She said it was because she had realized just how big a part Merlin had played in keeping her husband alive as long as he had, but Merlin had begun to wonder if it wasn't the memory of her father's execution which drove her. She was tireless. She read every proposal and amended them, and stayed up late most nights writing some of her own.

For Merlin, the weeks since returning to Camelot were like a dream. After imagining a magical Camelot for years, the notion that it was finally happening seemed unreal. He kept expecting to wake up in his chambers, probably to Arthur yelling about something, and everything would be back to normal. He would go on hiding his magic from Arthur. He wasn't a dragon, or half-dragon, or whatever Kilgharrah had turned him into, and Morgana was still alive and angry. It didn't occur to him that she might have survived his attack. While Gwen was up writing proposals, he was awake and riddled with guilt. He often distracted himself by exploring the extent of his new powers.

His magic was even more powerful than it was before. He'd gone out into the woods one sleepless night to discover that he could uproot an entire tree with ease, only to grow a new one in its place with barely a thought. Shifting was becoming easier, too. Merlin found that he could choose how to transform—willing wings to appear from his shoulder blades, or a tail (not that he found much use in the latter). He could also conjure up scales, which he began to practice regularly. It got to the point where he was fast enough to protect himself from daggers or even arrows, often using his newly-scaled arm as a gauntlet.

On the day that Arthur finally repealed Uther's ban, he appeared on the balcony with Gwen on his left and Merlin on his right. It seemed all of Camelot had heard that the king was making an announcement and had found a spot on the cobblestone, standing elbow to elbow with their faces upturned. It was a sea of people and Merlin felt a thrill of fear in his chest.

"After much deliberation, I and a counsel of my most trusted advisors…" he paused, glancing at Merlin and Gwen each before taking a breath. "It has been decided that the laws banning sorcery and the Old Religion are hereby abolished."

There was the sound of scattered gasps, but a majority of the crowd—which had been chattering and jostling each other when the king first stepped out—had fallen still and silent.

"To that end, I, Arthur Pendragon, do install Merlin, son of Balinor, as Camelot's first Court Sorcerer and Magical Advisor to the King."


	18. Lazarus

Morgana spent a majority of her days in her old hut, curled into bed with a peculiar necklace twined around her fingers. It was a simple strip of leather, but at the end of it was an apple-sized pendant—flat, and with the milky sheen of an opal. It was one of Aithusa's scales. The sorceress had been loathe to take it; parting with it had been painful for the dragon, and the scale would not regrow, leaving an unprotected spot on the side of her neck. All the same it was Morgana's most prized possession. It never left her hand, because the moment she took her fingers from its lustrous surface, she was plunged into blackness. While she wore it, however, she could see the forests unfolding beneath Aithusa as she hunted for food; she could watch sunsets, and sunrises, and count the stars. And best of all, she could see the hulking towers of Camelot.

Weeks passed, even months, but Morgana didn't care. She had become patient. Obsessed. The sorceress's body was withered, weak, and so was Aithusa's, and it could take centuries but she _would_ become strong enough to destroy Emrys. He would never grow old or die, not by any hand but her own, and neither would she. It was the thought of killing him that made her tortured existence bearable. His face was the only face she could remember with clarity, with his simpleton's smile which had so easily turned to the stony, unfeeling look of a murderer.

The longer Morgana was in contact with the scale, the deeper her bond with Aithusa became. It could have been the work of the Triple Goddess, her own subconscious sorcery, or- more likely- the dragon's magic (or even a mixture of the three), but the two began to form a link so deep they were almost as one. Morgana found that even though she had never heard Aithusa speak, they could now communicate thoughtlessly. The sorceress knew when the dragon was hungry or tired, just as the dragon sensed an unbearable need to kill the man called Emrys. This communication soon went beyond simple emotions and desires.

Morgana could control Aithusa.

It was an accident the first time. Aithusa had been hunting, and the sorceress had been "watching" from her bed, when she caught sight of a small band of knights bearing the crest of Camelot. She wanted them destroyed… and instantaneously a jet of flame hid the men from vision. Morgana shrieked at the sight of the fire and dropped the scale in fear, but not before she heard the knights screaming and felt a wave of confusion emanate from Aithusa.

 _Did you do that?_

 _No_ , the dragon responded, and she sounded frightened.

Morgana held the necklace out in front of her, mindlessly spinning the scale as she stared, unseeing, unblinking, into the dark.

 _Did you really think you'd seen the last of me, Emrys?_

* * *

The weeks following Arthur's announcement were, for Merlin, nothing short of bizarre. There were still some members of Court who had strongly supported Uther's ways and looked at him with suspicious eyes; there were even rumors that he had bewitched the King. Far stranger, however, was the opposite. People who had once seen him as—and treated him as—nothing more than a servant now seemed reverential when they passed him in the halls.

Perhaps the only one who didn't act any differently was Arthur. Even though Merlin wasn't technically his servant any more (George was quite happy to take the job), he still threatened polishing duty every time the warlock responded too cleverly to his insults. He had an official uniform made for Merlin—a black cloak with the golden dragon of Camelot embossed on the back, but the sorcerer refused to wear it, opting instead for his usual ratty blue or red shirt with the kerchief. It also irritated Arthur that Merlin wouldn't move into the new quarters he'd had arranged, choosing to stay with Gaius in the physician's chambers.

"What did you expect?" Gwen had said quietly one night, leaning her head on his shoulder as he complained. "He spent ten years hiding his powers. Do you know how strange this must be for him?"

Arthur sighed. "But he's a member of court now, Guinevere. I can't have my Royal Sorcerer dressed like a servant."

"You did before," she murmured before planting a kiss on his cheek and sliding under the sheets.

Camelot itself began to change in the wake of the reinstitution of sorcery, and not in the anarchistic way Uther had always warned. There were occasional spots of trouble—mostly gamblers who used magic to cheat, or pranksters who overturned stalls and laughed about it from a distance. These incidents seemed to Arthur a fair price to pay as it became obvious how useful sorcery was in terms of medicine, farming, construction, and essentially every other aspect of life in the kingdom. Families on the outskirts of the citadel that once starved now had access to as much food as they needed, and far more cheaply than ever before. Illnesses and injuries which had always been considered fatal became easily treatable. The entire kingdom prospered, and saw an influx of Druid traders who were happy to teach the skills of healing or select spells to those who were particularly apt. It was truly a golden age.

It was in the midst of this golden age that a rider returned to Camelot from a routine scouting mission, a lone knight out of a party of six. He rode furiously through the marketplace and practically up the steps to the Great Hall, sagging on his horse.

"Blaise?" Arthur hurried out to meet the knight, Merlin not far behind. "What happened? Where's—"

"We were attacked, sire." Several servants helped Sir Blaise off of his mount, and he seemed to be struggling to stand upright. "They're dead. All of them."

"Who attacked you?"

"It was a… dragon, sire. A white dragon." The knight looked away. "I was in the back of the group, and it let up before it…"

"Thank you." The king's lips tightened and he gave the man a weary nod. Sir Blaise was helped towards Gaius's chambers, and Arthur turned to Merlin. "Did you hear that? A white…" He broke off. The sorcerer was rigid, staring dead ahead, and his face had become deadly pale. "What?"

"Morgana," Merlin whispered.


	19. Yin and Yang

"You know, it's still not too late for you to turn back," the sorcerer called over his shoulder conversationally, and the king sidled up next to him.

"Give it a rest, Merlin," Leon called from the back of the group. His sentiment was echoed by several of the other knights.

"You may be a sorcerer, but I'm the king." Arthur smirked. "Like I would let you face a dragon alone."

"I have before. More than once. I can handle myself."

"Dragonlord or no, I find that a little hard to believe." Arthur paused. "Besides, it's my throne Morgana's after." The warlock sobered instantly at the sorceress's name, and the king shot him a look. "It was an accident, Merlin. We all know that."

"She doesn't," Merlin said quietly, and rode on ahead.

It had been only hours since Sir Blaise had returned to Camelot, and a party had been assembled to track the dragon and her mistress. The group consisted of Arthur, Merlin, and several veteran knights—including Percival, who had hardly left the sorcerer's side since the night he had told him about Gwaine's death. It was well-intentioned, but Merlin had nonetheless grown a little irritated by the man's constant presence; he had even taken to following the warlock on herb-gathering trips into the woods, standing a few feet back with his sword drawn.

All at once, any chatter amongst the riders died away as a scent reached their noses. Merlin in particular seemed struck by it, whether on account of his heightened senses or due to his experience with Morgana. It was the smell of burnt flesh.

"It's just a little farther," Sir Blaise had joined Merlin and Arthur at the head of the group, his voice dreamy. "You can see them through the trees."

The knights lay scattered between broken branches and dead horses, their tunics red as blood where they hadn't been burned away. Several swords lay glimmering in the dirt. Sir Blaise was crying.

" _Oh drakon, anale tendai gard amasen fulakson,"_ Merlin called out the summons and he could sense a couple of the men looking at him almost fearfully. They fanned out to the edges of the clearing. " _Erkheo!"_

A minute passed.

"Are you sure you did it right?" Arthur began. "Maybe—"

" _Aithusa! E male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!"_

"What are you saying?" Arthur whispered.

"I'm summoning her," Merlin said, and his voice was grim.

His words were punctuated by the sound of wings, and there was a slight clanking as the knights which had not already been holding their swords aloft drew.

* * *

Aithusa was lying morosely in front of her mistress's hut when she heard a voice in her head, one she hadn't heard in a very long time.

 _Dragon, I command your presence. Alight to me._

The man was Emrys, the man Morgana hated so much. She wanted to ignore the call, but he spoke again.

 _Aithusa! You must obey me._

Casting a final look towards where her mistress slept, Aithusa took to the air. It was a short flight to the sorcerer, and the dragon recognized it as the place where the men had burned.

 _What have you done?_ He asked, and she lowered her head.

 _It wasn't me_ , she wanted to say, but she knew no words. There was a shifting in the recesses of her mind and she realized her mistress had awoken.

 _Emrys,_ Morgana spoke in Aithusa's head, and the dragon flinched against the sound, so full of hatred. She knew she should hate this man also, and yet she couldn't. Not completely.

 _I command you to leave these lands,_ Emrys was saying. _Stop this violence._

Every scale on Aithusa's body vibrated with the desire to leave. The need to listen. He had commanded her to go and she had to obey, and she tensed, her wings flaring as she prepared to fly—

 _No._

The desperate need to follow the man's orders increased but Aithusa felt Morgana taking control. She was powerless.

 _Did you miss me, Emrys?_

* * *

Merlin hesitated a moment before speaking when the dragon landed in front of him. Since Morgana and Aithusa had been connected, the dragon had changed. She was no longer shrunken, or twisted into painful shapes. She was massive, nearing Kilgharrah's size, and strong; powerful muscles rippled beneath the shimmering white scales, and elegant spines arched from both sides of her face.

" _Drakon, te ékanes?"_ He murmured, stepping forward. The dragon seemed unable to meet his gaze, her head lowered in shame or sadness. " _Non didlkai. Kar krissas."_

For a minute it looked as though Aithusa was listening, her eyes wide and searching. She shifted, ready to leave, and in a split second something changed.

 _No_. The word echoed through Merlin's head and the voice belonged not to a dragon but to a sorceress. _Did you miss me, Emrys?_

 _"Ithi!"_ He shouted, his eyes flashing gold, but the dragon only tilted its head with a malevolent curiosity. The edges of its mouth twisted into a ghoulish imitation of a smile, far too wide and fanged. The eyes burned red.

"Get out of here!" Merlin turned back to the knights, who simply stared at him, confusion written across their features.

"Why isn't it working? I thought—"

" _It's Morgana!"_ The sorcerer spun, his eyes glowing as his body seemed to rise into the air under a wave of black. The scales twisted over his legs, his torso, his arms, and in a matter of seconds the two dragons faced each other, white and black, red and gold. There was silence in the clearing, but as the moment passed, the silence broke.


	20. Lethe

The two dragons stared at each other, heads half-lowered like dogs. Arthur felt a twinge of uneasiness. Merlin was dwarfed by the white dragon, standing at maybe half its size, and was far more slender.

 _"_ My, Emrys… You certainly have changed." Aithusa's lips never moved and yet the sound of Morgana's voice echoed through the clearing.

 _As have you_. Only Arthur could hear Merlin's response.

"And how sweet. You brought your boy king with you." She laughed, blinking coquettishly and taking a step towards Arthur. The black dragon snarled—a deep, rumbling sound, like thunder, and Morgana pulled back slightly. "Don't worry, Merlin, dear. His death will be quick. I only wish I could say the same for you."

Her jaws seemed to unhinge and a current of fire roiled out of her mouth and towards the knights. Merlin, impervious to the flames, stepped in front. His wings spread as shields and the blaze bounced off of the membrane, but Morgana seemed to be expecting as much. The moment the flames had left her tongue she dove forward, her front claws scrabbling for purchase amidst Merlin's scales.

The black dragon howled, staggering backwards under her weight, and Arthur could see his hind legs flexing desperately to avoid crushing the knights. Droplets of blood oozed from his shoulders, where Morgana's talons had sunken into the skin. At that moment Percival ran forwards, screaming in fury and holding his sword aloft.

" ** _FOR GWAINE!"_** He shouted, and struck against the white dragon's chest. The blade did little more than bounce off of Morgana's scales, but it was distraction enough for Merlin to free himself and stand, glowering, in front of the knights.

"Gwaine?" Morgana laughed. "Surely you don't mean the cowardly little man who betrayed your king."

Her words seemed to galvanize the black dragon, and he leapt at her with such force that several of the men standing behind him were pushed backwards. Two men ran at his flanks.

* * *

Kilgharrah had said it was a thin line.

Merlin had heard Morgana's voice and shapeshifted instantaneously, without a thought, but the more she spoke, the less he understood. There were no words, only sounds—familiar sounds, but sounds without meaning. Two of those sounds stood out in particular.

The first was a threat against the man he needed to protect, the man that called him Merlin, whose aura shone like a star. The second time was about another man. A different man, one that used to be very dear, and suddenly Emrys became aware that this priestess had killed him. He was overcome by rage. He didn't remember the man's name, or his face, but he remembered an aura not unlike Arthur's—bright and warm. Kind. There was a memory in his mind; it wasn't his (it was Percival's, but Emrys didn't know this), but it was vivid enough. It was the sound of screaming.

He sprung forward, his jaws snapping in the air. They closed about the white dragon's neck, but he couldn't land a fatal blow through the thick scales. She cried out in surprise and anger, and thrashed fiercely beneath his grip. Emrys caught sight of two of the knights, who were slashing with swords at Morgana's flanks and midsection. One of the men seemed to be having very little luck, rebounding off of her glimmering hide with every strike, but the other wielded a much different blade. It was the man with the shining aura, and the weapon he carried had a name. Excalibur.

The sword slid effortlessly into Morgana's back leg, and she roared, sweeping at the man with her tail. He was flung into a tree trunk with one powerful strike and Emrys half-turned instinctively, wanting to see if the man was hurt, and unconsciously he released his grip on Morgana's neck. The moment the pressure of his teeth lightened she heaved against him and he fell onto his back, his wings pinioned beneath him.

The entire clearing seemed to shake with the force of the two dragons hitting the earth, and Emrys realized he had come within a few yards of landing on the knights. It wasn't safe to fight on the ground, not with the fragile men, and even as he felt sharp talons searing through his exposed underbelly he surged up, off of the ground, and took to the air.

Morgana had been thrown off of the smaller dragon when he jetted upwards, and as hoped, she ignored the knights completely in favor of her departing enemy. She took off, leaving Arthur, Percival, and the others to watch from the clearing.

Despite having smaller wings, Emrys did not have the girth of his counterpart; he was lither—built, it seemed, for speed. Morgana could only just keep up, but the sound of her snapping jaws at his tail urged the dragon on faster. He had no idea where he was going, only that his chest and shoulders burned and that he had to go in the opposite direction of the castle, and suddenly a voice rang through his head.

 _Merlin. Listen to me._

For a moment the voice was strange, almost dream-like in its unrecognizable familiarity.

 _Your name is Merlin._

He understood these words, but it didn't make sense. His name was Emrys.

 _You cannot forget yourself, young warlock. You must fight it._

"Kilgharrah?" Emrys said, and he was Merlin, and a surge of fear gripped his heart. "Did I—"

 _I told you it would be difficult to keep hold of your human self, but it should have taken decades to reach this level of lethe. There is another force at work here. Someone powerful. You should change back, Merlin, and soon._

Merlin turned his head. Morgana was still flying after him but had fallen back a ways, and when she saw him turning she sped up with a high-pitched cry.

"Kilgharrah, I've barely been a dragon for a few hours. I don't know how to fight her."

 _And how long have you been a sorcerer?_


	21. No Good Deed

Almost as soon as the thought to use sorcery entered Merlin's mind, he could feel magic welling up beneath his skin ( _er, scales_ ). It was vibrant, almost hot in its pure power, but somehow manageable. He felt strong. There were no words. There weren't even tangible thoughts. Where his magic had once been laced in his blood, it was now an extension of himself, like an arm or a leg. He didn't have to think about the gusts of wind which buffeted Morgana's wings, or the birds he conjured from clouds whose pecking beaks were nowhere near as soft on the white dragon's scales.

Merlin made to bank in the air, wanting to watch his handiwork, but he was still a novice to flight and fell a few terrifying yards through the air before he caught himself. Morgana had forgotten him completely. She was hissing, snapping her jaws at the puffy falcons which had formed three separate mobs—one about her head, and one about each wing. The first group of birds were acting largely as a distraction, scrabbling for her eyes and tearing at her face, but the other two were doing something far more deadly. Formed from clouds, the falcons had the same amount of condensation in their cores—and the same propensity to freeze. They alighted on the edges of the dragons wings and seemed to ooze together, feather joining with feather until they had created twin encasements of ice.

The white dragon plummeted in a dizzying spiral, followed by the remaining cloud-hawks like ghostly echoes of her scales. Merlin watched Morgana's plight, hovering in the air, his heart racing and a sick feeling in his stomach.

 _Merlin, you know what you have to do._

"She'll be back," he said quietly, morosely. "She'll be back and who knows how many people she'll kill. She'll destroy Camelot, Kilgharrah."

 _Morgana must be destroyed, yes, but not now. Not like this. Aithusa is the last of her kind, young warlock, and she does not deserve to die for the actions of her mistress. You cannot kill the last true dragon for the sake of Morgana._

Merlin hesitated a moment longer but in a few seconds Morgana would make contact with the treetops, and it would be too late. He dove after her.

The wind whistled around his body but it found no harsh edges to buffet against. His wings had all but collapsed, folded along his back, and to a spectator he might have looked like a black ribbon being pulled towards the earth. Merlin urged himself to go faster, conjuring a wind to propel him after Morgana's form as the wave of green grew closer and closer. In the back of his mind he wondered if he himself would be able to pull up in time. He'd never gone so fast in his life and he was a poor flyer anyways, and it was exhilarating and frightening but he had the time to dwell on neither.

He was coming up on the dragoness and he couldn't think, couldn't imagine anything but the feeling of the trees as they splintered through his bones and so for the second time he parted his lips and doused Morgana in flames.

She screamed and it was not a sound of pain— her scales made her immune to the heat. It was a sound of fear, and Merlin inwardly flinched against it. There was no doubt in his mind that Morgana was remembering the last time she had seen fire so close.

The ice encasing her wings melted within seconds but it felt like an eternity before she was able to move them and Merlin was certain he was too late, he'd taken too long and she was going to crash down to the forest floor, but suddenly she shot upwards like a bullet, slamming into him.

It had been a glancing blow, but Merlin had been flying so fast that the impact sent him tumbling out of control. Morgana flew out of sight without so much as a backwards glance as the black dragon tore through the very tops of the trees.

* * *

"My lord?" Someone was shaking him, and it was gentle but the motion hurt like hell and one of his ribs was definitely broken.

"I'm fine," Arthur tried to wave whoever it was away and they pulled him to his feet. He groaned. "What happened?"

"The dragons took off that way," Blaise said, and his voice had the quality of a man half-asleep. "Merlin was leading her away, but I lost sight of them through the trees."

"We've got to go after him," Arthur reached for his sword, lying in the dirt next to where he'd fallen, and sucked in his breath as his midsection seemed to catch fire.

"And how will that help Merlin?" Another knight asked, but suddenly Percival spoke. He was at the very far edge of the clearing, and as Blaise and Arthur turned, he pulled himself upright on a tree branch.

"I can see them! They're about a league north of us, maybe less, and…" he faltered.

"What?" Arthur asked impatiently, starting towards Percival.

"They're falling," the knight whispered, his face pale. Ignoring Blaise's attempts at ministration, Arthur untied his horse and swung himself onto the saddle. He half-expected Percival to protest, but the man was already on his own steed and galloping northwards.

The group rode at a breakneck pace and within minutes they could hear roaring. Through the gaps in the trees Arthur could see two shapes ahead of them—one far lower and far larger. Morgana. There was something wrong; her wings didn't seem to be working and she thrashed with a panicked fervor, and Merlin was darting after her. Suddenly there was fire shooting from the black dragon's maw, and tongues of it shot back towards Merlin, but when he seemed unfazed the king realized the fire was harmless. A moment passed and Morgana's wings seemed to be changing shape, and Arthur understood that his friend was _saving_ the other dragon.

He was confused, but the confusion changed within moments to rage and fear. Her wings defrosted, Morgana careened into Merlin in her path to escape, and he was thrown to the side, his previous momentum now sending him through the top of the forest with blinding speed. There was a terrible chorus of snapping, like miniature explosions, as he rent a path through the trees. It was a blur of black to the knights but he passed within a few yards of their party before finally skidding to a stop. Compared to the awful sound of his descent, the quiet that followed was deathly.


	22. A Familiar Face

Distantly, Arthur noted with some surprise that Percival was off his horse and sprinting towards the crater before anyone else seemed to have even registered the crash. There was a slithering sound, like the leaves that were blown across the cobblestone streets in the fall, and then nothing. The king took off after his knight, one arm clasped to his side.

There was a giant furrow carved into the earth and as the party approached a few pebbles skittered down the sides. Merlin was lying in the center of the hollow, almost curled in on himself, and he looked impossibly small compared to the furrow he'd created.

"Merlin!" Arthur slid down the embankment, desperately watching for any sort of movement. There was no answer but as he drew nearer, he saw a rise and fall in the sorcerer's chest and heaved a sigh of relief. "He's alive," he called to the knights waiting at the top of the ridge, and Merlin stirred.

"Not bad for a first landing," he murmured sleepily, and a smile tugged at his lips.

"Are you kidding me? That was awful," Arthur said, and he chuckled, even though it hurt his ribs. "Your flying is as bad as your manservant abilities."

"I'm not a manservant any more, didn't you hear? I got promoted." Merlin sat up slowly, and Arthur caught sight of a thin rivulet of blood threading its way down his face from his temple.

"Not badly hurt then?" There was a shift in the king's voice but Merlin didn't pick up on it.

"Surprisingly, no. I think the tree boughs must have caught the worst of the—"

"Then would you mind telling me what in the _hell_ you were thinking?"

"Sorry?" Merlin staggered to his feet. Arthur looked angry, as angry as he had been when he'd revealed his magic, and he couldn't help but flinch as the king's voice rose.

"I saw you. You saved her." Arthur could hear his own mounting fury and like Merlin he was reminded of Avalon—only he was thinking about how the sorcerer had kept such great and terrible secrets for so long, and he couldn't help but wonder if Morgana had been one of them. " _Why?_ "

"It didn't seem—"

"She's a _dragon_ , Merlin, and you of all people should know what she's capable of! Do you know how many people will die if she decides to strike at the kingdom? Don't you remember what happened the last time a dragon attacked Camelot?"

"I couldn't kill her!" The sorcerer burst out, and he looked at Arthur as if he was pleading with him to understand. "Aithusa, the white dragon—I was the one who hatched her egg, Arthur, I _named_ her and Kilgharrah said she was a good omen for you and for Albion, and she's the last real dragon. It's not her, it's Morgana. She can't help what Morgana makes her do and I can't kill her for that." He paused, about to speak again.

 _I know what it feels like,_ he wanted to say, but Arthur didn't know about the Fomorroh and now didn't seem a good time to bring it up.

"It would have been wrong," he mumbled instead.

"And if—" Arthur's lips tightened. " _When_ she comes to Camelot, what then? Could you kill her then?"

"If I had to," Merlin said softly, and at his downcast gaze Arthur softened slightly.

"We should get back," one of the knights called, and the king nodded in assent, starting up the embankment.

"Arthur, I—" For the second time, the sorcerer was about to speak and thought better of it. There was something he had to ask his king, a promise, but it could wait. It had to. "I'm sorry," he lied.

"I don't know what I expected," Arthur said over his shoulder, but his tone was no longer reproachful. "I've always said you couldn't hurt a fly."

* * *

"Oh, Merlin," she laughed and the sound was sweet, echoing through the abandoned halls of the abandoned ruins. "Your power may have grown, but you are still _so_ weak. A pity."

She lifted her fingers from the fount and regarded their transparency with a sigh. She wasn't ready to face him, not for a while yet, but she could think of little else. She liked to picture his surprised expression, or maybe one of fear, and then the blankness. He had such a goofy face, but death had a way of fixing all that. He wouldn't get away this time.

Many leagues away, packing herbs in to a bottle, Gaius began to cough.


	23. Angel

When the black dragon opened its jaws Morgana saw fire building up in the back of its throat and a wave of crippling panic overtook her. She tossed the scale onto the bedspread, her breath coming in ragged gasps. For a moment she was unable to even move, petrified by the memory of the searing heat and the agony. It was Aithusa that prompted her to move again. The dragon was ordinarily calm, almost demure, but now she was radiating a flurry of emotions and all of them were negative. There was betrayal, and anger, and confusion, and sadness, and pain. Although the dragon could not speak, Morgana knew exactly what she was asking.

 _Why?_

"I didn't mean to let it go that far," Morgana began to sob, but Aithusa could sense that this was only partially true. Yes, the sorceress had not wanted Aithusa hurt, but all the same she had been emanating a burning sense of focus during the attack—a _need_. Morgana hadn't felt complete since before the fire, and controlling the dragon had made her feel strong again. "You understand better than anyone. Merlin _must_ pay for what he's done."

Aithusa could feel her mistress's sorrows as her own. The death of Morgause was like a stab to the heart, and the death of Mordred was equally difficult to bear. She could remember a time before her own birth, when Merlin's name sounded warm, like home. But then he'd hurt the sorceress and the bitterness had begun to form. The hole he'd left ached doubly when Morgana discovered his powers, and not necessarily because he'd been her faceless nemesis for so long. No, it hurt because when Morgana was discovering her powers, Merlin had let her believe she was alone. A freak. He'd chosen the son of Uther over his own people, and Morgana could never forgive him for that. He was a liar and a murderer.

These things Aithusa knew from Morgana, things which had been formed and cemented in the pit. But Aithusa knew other things, too, and they muddled her brain. Merlin was bad. He was evil, Morgana said so herself, and Morgana had never lied to her. And yet the sorcerer's aura was familiar. Aithusa knew him from before she entered the world. He had been in her dreams as she slept for a hundred years, and in those dreams, he was good. He protected her as an egg and brought her into the world and named her after the light of the sun. His face was the first face Aithusa ever saw.

Aithusa decided not to fly home just yet. She angled away from the sorceress's hut and away from Camelot, wandering slowly and aimlessly and watching the light of the afternoon deepen. Her mind drifted towards Kilgharrah.

* * *

Arthur thought Merlin to be uncharacteristically quiet on the ride back to Camelot, and it dawned on him that it wasn't about his own outburst in the forest. There was something else on the warlock's mind.

"Are you going to tell me this time?" he asked. His voice was low so the other knights wouldn't hear, and he stared down the path ahead. There was a grim set to his face and Merlin sighed.

"I don't know what you—"

"Don't you dare." The king did look at his ex-servant now and his eyes bore into Merlin's. "I'm done with that bullshit."

"Something's wrong," he said simply, offering a smile which was meant to be reassuring. It came off as sad. "Back there… I had no idea who I was."

"Sorry?"

"I didn't know you or any of the knights," Merlin's voice trembled slightly and he cleared his throat. "I didn't even know my own name. I only recognized you as someone important to me, someone to protect. And if Kilgharrah hadn't said anything I don't think I ever would have—"

"I thought Kilgharrah was dead?" Arthur asked sharply.

"I still hear him, sometimes. A piece of him stayed with me." Merlin took a deep breath. "Arthur, this isn't supposed to happen. I'm not supposed to forget things, not like that, and it's only going to get worse. He says someone's making this happen to me."

"Morgana?"

"I don't think so. This is too advanced for her." Merlin paused. "Arthur, I need you to promise me something."

"Anything." The king frowned. Something in his friend's voice worried him.

"The more I change, the more likely it is that I can't… that I won't come back. But I trust you, Arthur, I always trust you, and I need you to promise me never to let that happen."

"Merlin, what do you—"

"I'm human, Arthur. I don't want to be anything else. I need you to swear that—"

"That I'll kill you?" His voice rose and Merlin looked around hurriedly, but Arthur was beyond quieting. "How could you even ask me that? I don't—"

"Please," it was soft, almost a whisper. "I can't ask anyone else. I want… I _need_ … you."

"Merlin…"

"Do you have any idea how terrifying it was? I had no idea what I'd done or who I'd hurt, only that I could smell blood, and I didn't know where I'd been or how long. It was like dying, Arthur."

"Don't ask this of me," the king murmured. "I'm not strong enough."

Merlin's shoulders fell but he nodded, and as Arthur watched he forced another wry smile. "It was a long shot."

They rode on in silence, neither man looking at the other.

 _I'm not strong enough_ , Arthur thought to himself. _Oh, gods, never make me have to be strong enough._


	24. Double Trouble

At first, Arthur thought the sound was another patient.

As soon as they'd made it back to Camelot he and Merlin had been sent to Gaius's chambers at the behest of the other knights (namely, Percival), but as they neared the door a pained, hacking cough stopped the two in their tracks. Merlin was the first to stir, walking through the door like as if he were asleep.

"Everything alright?" Gaius was hunched over the table, and as Arthur spoke the physician turned. His skin was pale, deathly so, but his eyes were unnervingly bright.

"It's just a cold," he waved a hand, trying to speak airily, but his face turned red in an effort to stem another bought of coughing. Merlin almost ran to him, leading him to a bench. "I shouldn't have been out in the rain, that's all. Sometimes I forget how… old I've gotten."

"Don't say that," Merlin frowned and sat next to Gaius. He looked upset.

"It was bound to happen eventually, my boy. Age catches up with the best of us."

"What are your symptoms?" Merlin was standing again, rifling through the carefully labelled jars with such speed that Arthur feared he'd break something. He began laying a few out on the table—angelica, horehound, cress. "Do you have a headache? Fever? Nausea? Aches? I can make you a tea. Or a—"

"Merlin, truly, it's just a simple cough," Gaius protested, but Arthur sensed he was trying not to worry his ward. There was a quiet edge to his voice that it scared the king more than the soft rattling he'd noticed in the physician's chest.

"I don't think so," the sorcerer said resolutely, giving Gaius his best caretaker's glare as he held a hand out to feel the man's forehead. "Gods, you're burning up. I'll add some laurel."

"Do you know what it is?" Arthur spoke quietly so Merlin wouldn't hear. Gaius paused, sighing deeply.

"I'm not entirely certain, sire, but it is familiar. And I don't think any amount of tea is going to help me."

* * *

Aithusa was still flying when an unfamiliar voice sounded in her mind.

 _Soon, little one. Tell your mistress she is not alone in her noble quest._

The dragon felt power emanating from the speaker, but also a strange absent quality. Whoever it was seemed like a specter—not quite here, not quite there. See-through.

 _Emrys can only straddle the line between his kind and yours for so long, my pet. Soon he will have to choose. And to save his precious king, he will always choose the same. It's almost a shame to waste such a pretty face._

Morgana picked up the scale then, sensing something was amiss.

"Aithusa? Where have you—"

 _The hermit queen_ , the voice said, and there was a smirk in the words. _Tell me, does the blacksmith bitch still sit on your throne?_

"Who are you?" Morgana jerked upright, her eyes wide and searching in the dark.

 _If we met, darling, it was only briefly, and more's the pity. We would have made a great team. We'll make a great team yet._

"Identify yourself, coward."

 _Coward?_

"Why else would you hide in the shadows? Are you scared?"

 _Scared?_ There was the ghost of a laugh. _It is you who should be scared of me. The Triple Goddess may have abandoned you, my love, but She never forgot me._

"I'm not abandoned. I—"

 _You're sitting in a hovel, blind and afraid._

"And you?" Morgana spat.

 _I'm getting stronger._ She imagined the sound of a shrug. _In her infinite mercy the Goddess wakened me to do Her holy work. The sorcerer must be destroyed._

"Who are you?"

 _I preceded you and your late sister in both life and power. I am a High Priestess, and I am the woman who kills Emrys._

"And you want to work together?"

 _I am still weak, Morgana, more weak even than you. My hold on this world is tenuous. It is getting stronger, but it will be some time yet before I can walk among men._

"What do you need me to do?"

 _Every moment Emrys takes the form of a dragon heightens the chance that he'll be unable to return to his human self. He will forget his name, and even his powers- which if I'm not mistaken, is how he bested you._

"So you need me to coax him out?"

 _He will do anything for Camelot, and above all, for Arthur. I trust you can figure out the rest. But Morgana?_

"What?"

 _Save the final blow for me._

Morgana and Aithusa both could sense the presence disappearing, receding back to wherever it came from, and the sorceress relaxed into her pillows. This stranger could be useful. A single High Priestess was powerful, but two…

She didn't know how she would go about luring Merlin to the skies, or even the name of the woman she was considering working alongside, but she did know one thing.

The only one who would strike the blow ending Merlin's miserable life would be her.


	25. Ministrations

Merlin had stopped showing up to council meetings, and any time one of the more senior members made a comment about his absence, Arthur silenced them with a withering glare. He himself barely saw the sorcerer, and when he did it was easy to tell how Gaius was doing without even entering his chambers. Merlin's hair might have been a little unruly before but now it was absolutely wild, and there were dark rings under his eyes as if he hadn't slept since the party returned to Camelot.

Gaius was getting worse.

One morning Arthur stopped by, announcing himself with a cursory knock on the door, and Merlin bolted upright from where he had been slumped over a table. There were innumerable bottles littering the surface in front of him, most emptied, some turned on their sides or even shattered on the ground nearby as if in great frustration.

"Arthur," he beamed, but it was wan and tired. "I'm sorry I haven't been in lately, I—"

"How's Gaius?" Arthur asked softly, and any pretension of a smile fell from his friend's face. Merlin led him to the bed in his old room.

"I moved him up here so he wasn't disturbed when people came in asking for herbs," he explained. "He's been like this for the past few days."

Gaius was propped up with a generous amount of very fluffy pillows (Gwen had brought them from the royal stores personally), a stack of books at his side. He looked almost as if he'd fallen asleep reading, but the rattle Arthur had heard when he first fell ill hadn't gone away. In fact, it had grown noticeably louder, and he saw Merlin flinch at each ragged intake of breath. It sounded like a death rattle.

"Nothing I've tried is working," Merlin said bitterly. "I've tried my magic and every potion he's ever taught me. I even brought in a few of the Druids from the village, and he's still the same."

Arthur didn't know what to say, but the pain stamped across the sorcerer's face resonated in his own chest. He'd known Gaius all his life. No matter what Uther or Arthur had said or done, the old physician had never been anything but loyal and wise. Arthur respected him more than any other man alive, save Merlin, in the kingdom.

"You'll figure something out," he offered, but Merlin didn't seem to be listening.

"He's always taken care of me," he sat heavily in a stool at Gaius's bedside, and Arthur got the impression that he had spent many a night in that same spot. "And now that it's my turn I can't… I…"

Merlin's face contorted and for a moment Arthur didn't understand what was happening. The sorcerer's hands flew up to cover his mouth and he rocked slightly in the chair, and Arthur heard a stifled sob.

Another moment passed and Merlin seemed to catch hold of himself. He pressed a palm into one eye, swiping away at the tears there even as another rolled, uninterrupted, down his other cheek. Arthur was suddenly overwhelmed with an unshakeable idea that Merlin was used to hiding his sorrow, and he felt a twinge of shame. Tactfully he walked across the room, pretending he was looking at the books piled high at Gaius's bedside and not at the sorcerer.

"He's still taking care of me, you know?" Merlin spoke after a few minutes. His voice was husky, and he cleared his throat, and when he spoke again he sounded almost normal. "All he does when he's awake is research. He's trying to figure out how to stop… whatever's happening to me. Says it's more important than a cure for himself." He laughed wryly. "Geoffrey brings the manuscripts to him every morning. It's funny, I'd never seen him outside of the library before."

"Has he found anything yet?" Arthur picked up an ancient tome, flipping through it. There were strips of parchment marking a few pages, but the language was unreadable to the king.

"No," came the reply, but it wasn't Merlin's voice. The young men both turned to find Gaius hoisting himself a bit higher on the pillows, his face sallow but his eyes bright. "Not yet, but I have the entire Royal Library to search."

"You need rest," Merlin protested, but he was genuinely smiling for the first time since his mentor fell ill.

"As do you, my boy, from the looks of you." He clucked, shaking his head slightly. "No matter. You can help with my research." He grabbed a book, handing it to Merlin, and then turned, smiling, to the king of Camelot. "And so can you."

He took another book for himself and flipped to a page marked with parchment, impervious to the expression on Arthur's face—a curious mixture of surprise, resentment, and admiration, which Merlin found hilarious. He smirked, but tried to look deeply absorbed in his own texts as Arthur shot him a kingly glower.


	26. Free at Last

_A/N: As most of you by now know, I've been working pretty hard to update this story daily. However, I'm going on a trip from the 28th to the 8th and will likely be unable to post new chapters. As of right now (my birthday, mind you!) I'm trying to write as many chapters as I can before leaving, so I can hopefully post one or two while I'm out. Cheers!_

* * *

 _Merlin…_

Merlin fell out of the chair next to Gaius's bed, his heart racing. He couldn't shake the image of blue eyes, as deep and impenetrable as the sea, from his mind. They were familiar, mischievous and frightening.

 _I'm coming, Merlin,_ she had said, and the voice was familiar too, but the dream was fading too fast and he couldn't remember who it was. _Come find me. Come play._

He pulled himself back into the chair, noting with relief that his fall hadn't woken Gaius.

 _Who are you?_ He asked, but there was no answer.

* * *

Aithusa loved her morning trips.

She left just before dawn every day, when Morgana was still asleep, and flew as high as she dared. The stars hadn't yet faded away by that time, pinpricks of silver against a softening purple blanket. They had been her only comfort those two years she spent in an open grave with Morgana and when she saw them now she felt the same sense of hopefulness. She liked to watch the sun rise, too. It bathed the tops of the trees in a burnished gold and it made the world seem full of promise.

She didn't like it when Morgana controlled her. She felt like a puppet in her own skin. Given the choice she wouldn't have fought that black dragon in the woods—whatever her mistress's feelings towards the men from Camelot, Aithusa hadn't seen another of her kind in a long while. She was lonely. She knew, inexplicably, that Kilgharrah had died, and it made her sad. They hadn't been together for long before she'd left with the sorceress but all the same, he had been so happy around her. Kind. Aithusa had gotten the impression that he was terribly lonely, too, and she hadn't understood it at the time. Now she did, and all too well.

Aithusa did her best not to think on her trips. She focused on the stars, and on the sun, and on how lovely the forests were, because she didn't want to focus on how she was becoming more and more certain that Morgana was obsessed. The dragon was scared. Morgana had long been all she had, and she would follow the sorceress to the end of the earth, but all the same… Surely it was wrong to take control of your only friend. And maybe that was excusable. Morgana really did feel that she had lost everything. She was crippled and broken-hearted and Aithusa would do anything to help, but she didn't want to hurt people. She never wanted to kill. Kilgharrah had always taught her mercy, he said, after he learned it from a dear friend. She wished she could talk to Morgana about it, but she didn't have the words. Aithusa didn't think that she'd be able to get through to her besides.

At that moment she could feel Morgana stirring and it was with a heavy heart that she turned back.

* * *

Deep within the Isle of the Blessed, the priestess wandered. She was still transient, drifting like the fog that wrapped in tendrils around the ruins of her castle, but she could feel her magic settling in with an ebony brilliance. It was too early for her to leave the island, but that was no matter, because she had to prepare for a very special guest.

She floated towards the shoreline, kneeling and immersing her hands in the waters of the lake. There were no ripples at her touch; it was as if she'd slid her fingers through black glass.

" _Alase meina emeís nekkrús_ ," her voice was low, like thunder, and it could be heard resounding across the bay and onwards, through the Darkling Woods and beyond. " _Namo da_ _̱_ _sei ayendres k_ _̱_ _rís kardidá_ _, kho_ _̱_ _rís ancéfalo._ _Alase meina cotopó_ _ti_ _̱_ _n triplí_ _̱_ _fengári kaina sotosae to kharino drakon."_

 ** _Come to me, ye dead. Give me men without hearts, without minds. Come to me under the triple moon and kill the crimson dragon._**

In the depths of the Lake of Avalon, something shifted in the mud. There was a deep, hollow groaning, made wet by the mulch. It spoke of ageless agony, but it spoke also of relief. There were thousands of voices, and they came not just from the lake, but from the forests, and from the mountains.

" ** _Free_** ," they said, and the sound grew louder as they came closer to the surface.

"Free from the _earth_ and the _fires_..."

"We spent _so long_ in the dark—"

"-so long in the _black_."

"Mistress is calling us."

" **We will kill the dragon.** _"_

* * *

 _A/N: For that last bit of dialogue, I had downloaded a bunch of very cool and very scary fonts. Unfortunately, FFN didn't like my really cool fonts, which is sad because it added nicely to the effect..._

 _I had a different font for every line- Broken, Crazy Killer, Face Your Fears, and Cure Picture Show from UrbanFonts (if anyone was curious)._


	27. Reveal

Arthur had doubled the patrols around Camelot. It was only a matter of time before Morgana struck again, of that he was certain, and he didn't want to be caught off-guard. His men trained rigorously every morning, and he recruited new knights every day. With the legalization of sorcery a faction of magic-wielding soldiers developed and Arthur was starting to realize what a massive asset he'd been ignoring. There was even a surge of Druid warriors, eager to help protect their new home.

Merlin left Gaius's bedside for a few hours a week to teach technique sessions to the troops of sorcerers. Arthur took to standing on the sidelines and watching, as Merlin had often done during his own training hours. It was still strange to watch his old servant use magic, and a little awe-inspiring, too. The effortless way he conjured flame and stone was… well, breathtaking. His performances were amplified by the fact that, little by little, his concealment spell had begun to slip over the past few weeks. Arthur knew it was because of Gaius; Merlin was constantly thinking of him. He didn't seem to sleep, and whatever off-time he allowed himself from potion-making and research was spent with the soldiers. What had started with dark circles under his eyes had become flares of scales on his cheekbones, the faintest hints of horns peering out from his hair, even a tail (it disappeared when Arthur pointed it out, however).

"Have you made any progress?" Arthur murmured one day, walking up to Merlin, who was surveying his class as they created fissures in the grass in front of them. The soldiers newer to magic were struggling somewhat, a few beaming at hairline cracks in the lawn. The Druids were stifling grins, and as gaping chasms formed at their feet, the king got the impression that they were even holding back.

"I'm running out of books," Merlin offered a crooked smile but didn't break his gaze from the men and women in front of him. "And still he refuses to help me. He keeps talking about how there'll be a way to fix me in one of the books Geoffrey brings him." He paused, finally turning to look at Arthur. "He always wakes up when that librarian comes. I don't know how he knows, but he's up and beaming like it's Yule. He really thinks he can save me, Arthur."

"Maybe he can," Arthur offered quietly, but neither of them really believed it. A moment passed in silence and then he left his friend to the soldiers, heading towards the physicians chambers.

Arthur heard humming as he knocked on the doorway, and it stopped. He could just see Gaius's face from where he stood, glancing up from a book, and the old man smiled warmly.

"Good day, sire. I hope nothing ails you?" He called cheerfully, and Arthur walked up the slight steps, taking Merlin's chair at the man's bedside.

"I'm in perfect health," he said, and Gaius gave him a once-over.

"I'd respectfully disagree with that statement, based on the lines on your forehead," the physician returned to his book. "Looks like a digestive issue. I'd recommend warm lemon-water in the mornings."

Arthur smoothed his brow self-consciously.

"If you wanted to grab a book, sire, I—"

"I didn't come here for that, Gaius," Arthur murmured, but the old man seemed to be ignoring him. "When are you going to tell him you already know what's…"

"What's killing me?" he spoke nonchalantly, but the paper between his index and middle finger quivered slightly. "Don't you think he has enough on his mind already?"

"He's working himself into the ground trying to find a cure for you."

"And what do you think he'll do when I tell him that I'm going to die, my lord? That all his magic won't save me?" Gaius shook his head and turned the page. "It's better he has that hope."

"So what is this mysterious illness, then? It certainly didn't come from a little rain." Arthur talked in a lowered voice, as if Merlin was in the room (although with his newfound dragon senses, the king was never certain what his advisor did and didn't hear).

"If I'm right…" Gaius finally closed the book, and for the first time that day Arthur could see plainly how frail he'd become. "I know who's enchanting Merlin. A sorceress that bartered my life for another soul. I was saved when Merlin killed her, which means that when I die, she'll come back."

"Can't Merlin just—"

"Kill her? I think that's what she's hoping, my lord. There is no doubt in my mind that she's laid a trap for him. If he were to find out who's responsible for… for me, there would be no stopping him. He _cannot_ know."

"Who is she, Gaius?"

"I fear... Her name is Nimueh."

* * *

 _A/N: I have had zero time to write any new chapters. Halfway through a trip through Barcelona, and I'll be gone to California for a week after Spain. I'm so sorry about the delay, but I'll do the best I can to get at least one more post up before I finally go home. Also I haven't had the chance to reply to a few reviews yet but I see them, I appreciate them, and I'll PM you all soon!_

 _PS- I have no doubt the reveal of Nimueh's part in the story will be received poorly by a lot of you- after all, she was only a part of Merlin's story for the first season. However, she plays a much larger role in traditional Arthurian legend, and I thought it only fair to give her her due._


	28. Better Than You

They came in such numbers that Nimueh marveled at Camelot's ignorance. An undead army unlike any to ever walk the earth was rising and yet the Pendragon bastard didn't even bother to send a patrol party to her humble island. The sorceress was almost offended, but not quite—after all, what was the point of a surprise attack if the surprising factor was lost so early in the game?

It was true that Morgana had nearly taken the kingdom with a skeleton army of her own, but that seemed to Nimueh not unlike sending a page on a king's errand. She used the Rowan Staff—a nice gesture, but again, child's play. She had been using a conduit made from a tree branch. Nimueh was using the powers of the heavens (or hell, if one preferred). Her army was stronger, although not in number, because there was no need for Morgana's masses of soldiers.

As she leaned over the castle wall, watching the men and women drag themselves out of the lake, the priestess couldn't help but shiver with barely-suppressed delight. She almost felt bad for poor Merlin and the rest of Camelot. Were the roles reversed, she wouldn't entirely fancy facing an army like the one she'd conjured.

In the dark they were at first difficult to see, but the eye adjusted quickly. They were skeletal, of course, but instead of the sun-bleached bone of Morgana's army, the soldiers seemed to be made of an inky blackness, like a strange muck from the bottom of the lake. The sludge was wet, glinting with whatever light filtered down from the moon, and it dripped off of them in slow, sticky waves. Even then, the mire couldn't quite hide the broken shapes of dead men. Some moved in curious lopsided shambles due to missing limbs, and others held their necks at broken angles, and still more sported jaws which hung like ruined shutters at 45 degree angles (if they had jaws at all). Even so, they all had a terrifying capacity for speed. Perhaps the most frightening part of all the army was the sound.

The isle was deathly quiet. There were noises as latecomers pulled themselves out of the water and onto the pavilion but they didn't groan, or creak, or squelch as they walked. It was utterly silent. Moving at night, in the dark, they would be undetectable.

Like a queen in her court, Nimueh descended the stone steps of the buttress to stand in front of her men. Their heads snapped to her, most at uncomfortable angles, and the priestess couldn't help but think to herself how _dead_ they looked. Soulless. There was nothing in the marshy depths of their eye sockets, just more darkness.

"You." She crooked her finger at the creature closest to her. It was short, probably a child when it died ( _a very naughty child,_ Nimueh thought bemusedly). It obediently approached her and stood silently at attention, making no movements even when the priestess pulled a knife from her dress. The dagger was difficult to hold, much less wield, in her current state—the damn physician hadn't died yet, and so she wasn't complete—but she mustered her strength and slashed through the creature's midsection. The part of its body beneath the wound (hips and beyond) seemed to dissolve into formless sludge and the creature melted onto it, just a torso and head and arms on a thick, goopy puddle. Its mouth opened and closed wordlessly, but none of its comrades moved. A minute passed, maybe two.

"Come now, dear. I'm getting bored," Nimueh chided. The head tilted, its face almost sad, and the torso began to lift as the creature pulled itself up and out of the puddle of what had once been its lower body. Tendrils of the muck were still attached and stretched along with the body, pulling along more blackness, and legs slowly began to form behind it.

Smiling to herself, Nimueh returned to the castle, to her fount. She would visit Merlin's dreams again. It was so fun to toy with him.

Below, on the pavilion in the center of the castle, hundreds of the undead stood motionless, their heads upturned and their necks craned towards the room where Nimueh sat. If they had eyes, they would be watching.

* * *

 _A/N: I'm back! Once again, apologies for the wait- I didn't expect to be gone so long, but hopefully I can make up for the delay with some new drama in the coming chapters. Although it might make some of you hate me. ;)_


	29. Together Alone

"Arthur, really. Are you going to tell me what's bothering you, or am I destined never to get any sleep?" Guinevere sat up in bed, the sheets rustling as she reached for a candle.

"I don't—"

"You've been so fitful the past few nights." The warm light of the flame flooded the chamber and Arthur saw how tired his wife looked. There was no irritability in her voice, though, just concern. "What's on your mind?"

"There's nothing," he started, but settled back onto his pillows with a sigh. "It's Merlin."

"It's always Merlin," Gwen began to run her fingers through his hair, a motion which never failed to comfort the king. He closed his eyes.

"Ever since Avalon, we haven't… It feels like we're not as close as we used to be."

"It was a big secret for him to keep, but you mustn't grudge him for it, Arthur. He thought it was the only way." She spoke gently.

"Right, but now… It feels like there are so many secrets, Gwen. We barely see each other for an hour or two a day."

"Talk to him," she soothed. "He's still your best friend. I know he doesn't—"

"It's not him," he said. "It's me. I'm the one keeping secrets, Gwen." He sat up.

The more he spoke, the paler Gwen seemed to grow. Her hand, long since fallen from his hair, gripped at her chest.

"Oh, Arthur," she murmured, and her eyes were full of tears.

* * *

Merlin walked slowly down the stairs from Gaius's room, gripping a tea tray as if it were likely to fly out of his hands and shatter. His eyes were dull, his face grim and set. He set the apparatus down gently, stared at it for a moment, and then swept it and several emptied vials off of the workbench with a cry.

He sunk to the floor and immediately began to pick up the shards, praying Gaius was still asleep. He had been trying so hard to keep his emotions in check, but with every passing day, he grew more and more frustrated. There were only so many teas and poultices he knew how to make.

"Merlin?" The voice was quiet, coming from the head of the stairs.

"Gaius, what are you doing out of bed?" Merlin rose but didn't turn, fighting to clear his expression of any latent misery. "I… I tripped. Dropped the tray. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake—"

"My boy, we need to talk." The physician spoke in a harsh whisper. He was clinging to the doorframe and it looked as though he had lost at least twenty pounds, ten of which he never stood to lose. His face was drawn and haggard, and he stared out at his charge from eyes sunken in deep hollows.

"You need rest," Merlin hurried to grab the old man, by now used to how thin and reed-like his arms had become.

"Merlin, stop." Gaius held the blue fabric of the warlock's shirt with a blazing intensity. "It's over."

Merlin didn't even blink, still shuffling Gaius towards the bed. He had resumed the dead-eyed expression from earlier that day, and indeed from the past several weeks.

"Merlin!" Gaius reached up and gripped his ward's face between his hands, his fingers icy. " _Listen to me!"_

"No," Merlin said, but at least for the moment he had stopped walking.

"There is nothing you can do. It's not a disease, Merlin, it's a curse."

"Gaius—"

"I'm going to die."

" _Gaius—"_

"And you, Merlin, are going to let me." He sagged slightly, his energy spent, and finally allowed himself to be led to the cot. His breath, which had become a constant rattle, was now grating and heavy. "I should have told you sooner, and for that, I'm sorry. I didn't want you to lose hope, or do something stupid."

"Something stupid," Merlin echoed, sitting heavily on the side of the bed and gazing blankly at the wall. "What… stupid thing would I do, Gaius?"

"You would go running off after whoever's causing this."

"There's still time."

"They would kill you, Merlin, and while I've come to terms with my own death, I refuse to accept yours."

"So what, then?" Merlin's shoulders were sagging, caving in around his body, and his hands were clenched in his lap. "So what? You expect me to just… _sit_ here?"

"I expect you to allow me this final promise," Gaius smiled, and it was serene, and it was sad. "Don't seek them out. Don't fight."

"I can't." Merlin shook his head once, twice, his voice low and husky. "If I kill them—"

"For you to be able to kill them, it would be as a dragon. That would mean the death of everything that you are, Merlin, and I cannot allow the sacrifice of one so important for the sake of an old man like me." He laughed, but it sounded painful. "You've given so much already for the sake of Albion. Promise me just a little more."

Merlin opened his mouth and closed it, silent. He was thankful Gaius couldn't see his expression and he closed his eyes, turning and hugging him in answer. The physician took it as a confirmation; Merlin could feel the smile tugging at the cheek which rested against his own.

For the rest of that afternoon, the two lived in separate worlds. Gaius was peaceful, beaming and talking about how close he felt he was coming to a solution for the _emμοναχικόs_ problem. He even managed to keep down a weak broth and slept deeply for the first time in a while. Merlin sat next to him long into the night, the book he was pretending to read lying undisturbed in his lap as he stared sightlessly ahead.

He hadn't promised Gaius anything.


	30. Secret Book Club

Gaius had been meeting with the king for about a month, and Merlin had no idea.

"How may I help you, my lord?" He asked the first time Arthur brought the book. "Do you need any herbs? Merlin is out, but—"

"I know he's out." The king gestured for Gaius to stay in bed and approached, holding out a leather package.

"I'm afraid I don't—" The physician had begun, but at a look from Arthur, he folded back the wrappings. "A book? My lord…" His voice died away and he dropped the text onto the bedspread, his heart quickening slightly. "My lord, that book is bound…"

"In dragonskin," Arthur finished quietly. "I found it in the royal vaults. It's older than any of the books Geoffrey has in the library, I reckon. I need you to help me read it."

Gaius hadn't wanted to touch it, let alone read it, but his fingers ventured across the cover anyways. It felt cold, and sleek, and he gingerly flipped the cover open. The paper inside was a thick parchment—once creamy, he imagined, but it had long since yellowed and grown brittle with age. The text was ornate, flourished with beautiful versals in crimson and gold, but in several places the ink had faded into illegibility. He took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and haltingly began to read.

* * *

"The firewyrm has long been a fixture of this world, perhaps predating even the primary occurrence of man. It was first recorded in the Druid writings of Ceryes, in the year of the moon. One might find it interesting to note that this initial meeting was described as diplomatic, an exchange of knowledge and a kinship which lasted for many generations. The dragons offered the breath of life and fire, and protection from vagrants, and apparently required nothing in return. They even allowed select Druids to journey on their backs, beginning with the great Tjeron—the start of a line of draconic warriors who became known as Dragonlords, after their deep and intimate bond with their winged counterparts.

"It is unclear when the union between the Druids and the dragons grew sour, although some texts suggest that it was not the fault of the Druids themselves but of foreign tribesmen who sought to hunt dragons and steal their eggs. Whatever the cause, the dragons began to fade out of the company of humans. They took to the deepest and darkest reaches of the forests, to the very heart of the mountains, to the furthest depths of the deserts, and even so, they were pursued. Their numbers began to dwindle, and as the years passed, the few that remained grew violent. Even the Druids who had once been such precious allies were ravaged by flame and claw if they ventured too close to the creatures.

"It is important at this juncture to remember that the dragons were once peaceable. In fact, in the writings of Ceryes, there is mention of a dragon called Limnulah. Her rider, a Druid man-child by the name of Fayder, had been killed after falling from a precipice. Ceryes wrote:

 _"'_ _There was ne'er such a sound of grief as rent the air when Fayder, son of Famir, was killed. He had been the lord of a particularly old and wise wyrm, and when she became aware of his death, she fell, lifeless, at his side. Nature itself seemed to weep for the pair, but suddenly the dragoness disappeared and poor Fayder awoke. The village was, of course, joyous, and there were many celebrations even as the people mourned the loss of Limnulah. Before a moon had passed, however, the boy had begun to change. He had been gifted with the ability to skinwalk, becoming a dragon at will, but the wretched Fayder was still a child, and not equipped to handle such a transformation. He went mad and fled to the mountains, where he died.'_

"This process became known as the Resurrection. When a Dragonlord died, their dragon could choose to die alongside their companion and channel their power into the Druid. Although this was done with the best of intentions, it cannot be denied that the exchange rarely went well. In some cases the Druid went mad, even ending their own lives. In others, they grew incapable of returning to their human form, forgetting their past lives entirely. Because of these complications, the Druids called the hybrids the Lonely Ones, and together with the dragons sought to make the Resurrection a lost practice.

"Upon reading such passages in the works of the ancient Druids it is difficult to associate the wyrms of then with the dragons of now. In the past year alone there have been four separate dragon attacks in the region, and the Dragonlords have become all but a myth. Without such aid entire kingdoms are left vulnerable to the wrath of a creature stronger than entire legions of men, and it becomes necessary to seek out other means of defense."

Arthur leaned forward, interrupting Gaius. "Wait, is that all it said about the—"

"This was an introductory chapter, my lord." The physician began to flip through the pages, and the more he skimmed, the drier his mouth became. "Sire… These chapters are all about how to kill dragons."

"I know," Arthur said, his expression inscrutable. He settled back in his chair and motioned for Gaius to continue reading.


	31. Son of Man

"Knock knock," a voice called, and Merlin looked up from where he'd been mincing herbs.

"Gwen!" Her smiling face appeared in the doorway over a tray laden with bowls. "You do know you're not a servant anymore?"

"I just brought these for Gaius," she announced cheerily. "There's some broth from the kitchens. I know he can't really eat solid foods anymore, but I thought maybe the cheese would be okay. He used to like this kind, and—"

"Thank you," Merlin said, and wrapped her in a hug.

"How are you doing?" Guinevere murmured, but when she pulled back Merlin frowned. Her eyes were skirting from his, almost guiltily.

"Gwen, is everything okay?"

"Yeah." She shrugged, but the casualness didn't quite reach her face. "Just worried for Gaius. And for you. Arthur says you haven't been sleeping."

"Bad dreams," Merlin murmured. Gwen had hesitated when she said her husband's name, and the guilty look was back.

They chatted for a little while before Gwen excused herself and left. She kept her pace unhurried until she was back into her own chambers (she, too, had learned of Merlin's catlike hearing), but the moment the door closed, she sagged against the wall and began to sob.

There was no reason for it, not really; Arthur had told her everything would be fine, and of course she trusted him, but she had a terrible feeling anyways. She knew about his secret meetings with Gaius and the strange Druid. He said it was the only way to keep Camelot safe from Morgana, and it probably was, but all the same Gwen couldn't help but picture how upset Merlin would be if he found out. Every time she brought this up to Arthur, he tried to justify it by reminding her that Merlin had kept his magic a secret for years. Still, it was plain to a wife's trained eye that he didn't feel comfortable with the plan, either. She had been so tempted to just tell Merlin the truth when she saw him but it was too late. Arthur would not be swayed.

"Merlin won't kill Morgana, or her dragon," he had told her one night, turned over in the dark. "He can't. So we have to do it for him."

"Arthur, you're my husband, and I love you." She spoke to the outline of his back, pale against the crimson quilt. "But as your wife, I'm telling you that this feels wrong."

"And as your king, I'm telling you that the deaths of hundreds of my people would be a lot more wrong." His voice had grown hard and, seeming to realize this, he sighed and tried again. "I have to do something, Gwen."

She didn't say anything after that.

* * *

The Druid had come like a godsend.

Arthur had just received reports of another patrol found scorched beyond recognition, and barely minutes later, a second herald approached him.

"If it's more bad news, Lionel, really, I don't—"

"A Druid to see you, sire. Likmus, of the White Mountains." Arthur hesitated, about to ask if the meeting could be rescheduled, when the herald spoke again. "He says he knows how to stop the dragon."

The Druid was tall, reedy, with a thin face and dark eyes half-hidden behind a greasy curtain of hair. He wore all sheepskin, black save for a muff of white about his neck—still dressed for the mountains, Arthur wagered, and yet he didn't seem bothered in the slightest by the warmer air of Camelot.

"Likmus, son of Andros, at your service, King Arthur." He performed a strange little curtsy, his knees almost brushing the floor. "I offer my most sincere condolences for your men. I… saw the massacre." His head was bowed.

"I'm sorry?"

"I had seen the white dragon before, setting fire to villages unprotected by your great kingdom." He blinked rapidly, and there was a terrible pain in his gaze. Arthur was suddenly struck with an image—the man standing before him, watching from a mountaintop as his own people burned. "My good King, I was on my way here, to offer my assistance in any way that I could. But as I was passing through the Darkling Woods, I… I saw your men, sire. I was too late. The dragon took to the air before I could reach them."

"It's not your fault." Arthur leaned forward. "You would have been killed, the same as my knights."

"Perhaps," Likmus said. "But perhaps not." He strode towards where the king sat on his throne. Several knights started towards him, hands on the hilts of their swords, but Arthur stopped them with a gesture. "My lord, am I incorrect in assuming that the Lady Morgana is behind these attacks, in part?"

"How—"

"Word spreads quickly among the Druids, sire."

"It's true," Arthur sighed, clenching his jaw slightly and settling back in his seat.

"I would then venture to guess that killing the dragon would not solve the threat to Camelot."

"You would be correct in your venture, Likmus."

"What if I told you that you had the means to capture both dragon and mistress, already at your disposal?" The Druid sunk to his knees, by now almost at the foot of the royal throne.

"You?"

"Me, sire, and something which I suspect you've had far longer than you know."

"Beg pardon?"

"There's a Druid legend, sire, of a book which taught men to hunt and kill dragons in a time when they reigned over the villagers with claw and fire. It was called the _Drahmkonos Thanikidos_. It is widely held among my people that the late King Uther kept it in his vaults rather than burning it because of his hatred and fear of dragons."

"I've never heard of such a book," Arthur had said, but he was already trying to remember the contents of the chambers. They were full of odd artifacts, and it wasn't entirely difficult to imagine a book nestled in their depths.

"It would be bound in dragonskin, sire," Likmus looked up at him. His eyes were a very deep, very dark blue.


	32. Extenuating Circumstances

Arthur had found the book, all right, but when he sent for Likmus the next day, the Druid was nowhere to be found. Instead, he went to visit Gaius.

It had been obvious that the physician was uncomfortable with translating the _Drahmkonos Thanikidos._ The title, after all, was _The Just Death of Dragonsong_ , and Arthur and Gaius both found themselves wondering if Merlin could hear them as they read.

The texts were, according to Gaius, filled with magic darker than he'd ever come across. The one that disturbed him most was the _drakalos tossa_ —tongue of the Dragon Master.

 _"_ _Despite the utility of the Dragonlord commanding its counterpart, they as a species are often unwilling to join in the fight against the wyrms. Their power can, however, be emulated through a spell. It requires that the caster be touched by a dragon's breath—either healed or burned (for further exploration into the long-term effects associated with a dragon's breath, refer back to Chapter Three). The caster must also have doused his hands in the blood of an unborn dragon—typically done by smashing a dragon egg and tearing apart the creature inside, hence the surge of Hunters seeking and destroying nests._

 _"_ _While the spell alone is typically enough to gain control over a dragon, there are certain extenuating circumstances (id est, a Dragonlord commanding the beast in question) which demand a more powerful breed of magic. In these cases, in order to amplify the sorcery, the—"_

Gaius broke off.

"You can't stop there, Gaius, that's exactly what we—"

 _"…_ _the bones of a Dragonlord are required,"_ the physician said quietly, and he took a shaky breath before continuing.

 _"_ _They must be gathered from their resting place and ground into powder, save the skull, which will be used as a fount. There the caster will combine the dust of the Dragonlord with waters from the Pool of Nemhain, and will have utter control over the dragon regardless of any measures to the contrary."_

"Bones of a Dragonlord? Where—" Arthur froze. "Oh. Oh."

"My lord?"

"I've got to go," he said, taking the book back from Gaius.

* * *

At the time, Arthur couldn't understand why Merlin was so upset. He himself had been devastated- Balinor had been Camelot's last chance, after all, but the helplessness he felt was nothing compared to whatever Merlin was experiencing. He'd found the servant holding the dead man to his chest, his face ruddy and streaked with tears. Merlin seemed to have heard Arthur's shouts of rage and scrambled to his feet, but it was still obvious he was grief-stricken.

They'd stood in silence for a few moments before Arthur re-sheathed his sword, his breathing heavy but controlled. "We've got to get back to Camelot. The dragon could strike at any time, and I have to be ready."

Merlin sniffed, nodded, but didn't move.

"Come on." Arthur jerked his head back towards Camelot. "It's a long walk."

Merlin stared at him incredulously. "We aren't going to burn my f… the body?"

"We haven't the time." Arthur frowned. "It'll take us at least two days to get back."

"We can't just leave him here!" Merlin's voice was rising, and Arthur took a step forward, his hands raised in a confused but calming gesture.

"Merlin, we can't stop and build a pyre."

"Then stop talking and help me." His fists were clenched and his eyes were glassy, and he turned away.

Arthur didn't understand why the servant had been so affected by the strange hermit. He thought at first that Merlin felt guilt—Balinor had taken a sword meant for him, after all, and he'd been Camelot's last hope, but as he watched the boy carry over armfuls of stones he realized Merlin hadn't been exposed to death like he, a trained warrior, had. He shook himself and began to look for rocks, too. Merlin was arranging the cairn almost _lovingly_ , and Arthur made up his mind to talk to him about it later.

He didn't know then that Merlin was burying his own father.

* * *

It would be damned near impossible to find the burial site after so long, but Arthur had to try.

He went alone. Although George was technically his new manservant, he was far too prissy to take on any journeys, and as Arthur mounted his horse he couldn't help but cast a glance to where Merlin ought to be. The nostalgia was quick to melt away when the stable boy folded up an empty sack and tucked it into the saddlebag. Arthur tried to imagine how he would feel if the situations were reversed, but couldn't. He spurred the horse towards the woods.

They'd found Balinor in a cave at the foot of the Feorre Mountain, and when they started leading him back to Camelot, they'd taken a path through the Forest of Merendra. Somewhere in those woods, between the mountain and the town of Enged, was the cairn.

 _Forgive me, Merlin._


	33. Seeing Ghosts

Whatever inklings of doubt Merlin had felt before had become full-blown suspicion.

Arthur had simply disappeared for five days. Gwen didn't seem concerned, and yet she couldn't give Merlin a definite answer about where he'd gone. One day she said it was a routine patrol ( _You know how knights are!)._ The next it was diplomatic mission. She seemed skittish around him, and he got the impression on the third or fourth day that she was avoiding him altogether. What really piqued Merlin's concern was the fact that Arthur seemed to have gone alone. All of the knights were accounted for, and George was holed up in the armory, polishing suits that didn't need polishing. He wanted to talk to Gaius about it, but the physician was getting worse, and it didn't seem right to bother him about it when he was awake for so few hours at a time.

Around noon on the fifth day, Merlin was leading a training session when word broke that the king had returned. Leaving the sorcerers-to-be to their exercises, he sped towards the castle. He wasn't far behind Arthur; a page was leading his horse to its stable, and Merlin caught sight of a dark bag, heavy and bulging, slung over his shoulder. It gave him a strange feeling, but he brushed it aside and continued into the Great Hall.

Arthur was there, handing his cloak to the ever-obsequious George. He was speaking in low, anxious tones to someone just out of Merlin's line of sight, and Merlin drew closer. The minute he got into clear view of the stranger, shock belted up and down his spine in a painful bolt. He didn't know the face, but somehow, he did.

"Ah! Sir Merlin!" The man caught sight of him and smiled, and there was nothing out of the ordinary in his smile but it turned Merlin's blood ice-cold. "I've been so looking forward to meeting you." He extended a hand, revealing the Druid triskele on his forearm. The marking was blurred and broken in many places, as if burned.

"Merlin?" Arthur was frowning at the sorcerer, who was staring at the outstretched hand as if it was something poisonous.

"I…" Merlin looked up, and his face was pale. "Excuse me, I've got to…" he gestured vaguely at the corridor before walking away, his gait slightly quicker than usual.

Likmus was still smiling as the sorcerer left, but turned to the king with a sad expression. "He's revered among the Druids, you know. I had so hoped our first meeting would be better."

"He knows," Arthur said quietly, and he buried his hands in his hair. "Damn it. Damn it."

"He doesn't know, my lord," Likmus soothed. "He would have spoken out if he knew, surely."

* * *

Alone in a hallway far from the Great Hall, Merlin sagged against the wall, his breathing coming in quick, terrified pants for reasons he didn't understand. Images were flooding his mind—flickering, foreign, but accompanied by senses and emotions so real he forgot where he was.

 _"_ _I know you can hear me, Krysa," the man called. It wasn't his name. It was his name once, but not anymore. "You're a traitor to your own kind. Disgusting."_

 _He was sitting in a clearing, facing the trees were Kilgharrah hid._

 _"_ _Becoming one of them was bad enough, but you didn't stop there, did you? You couldn't."_

 _His name was Arbos then, not Likmus, but the face was the same. He was the same._

 _"_ _Did you know that dragons mate only once, for life, Krysa? Did you know that before that scaly bitch changed you?" The man grinned widely. "They mate once, and they conceive once. One egg. You left it with her, tried to lure me away." He laughed and reached into a bag sitting next to him, pulling out a teardrop-shaped object. Kilgharrah's heart hammered in his chest._

 _"_ _Only she was so easy to kill, Krysa. And all the better, because she had something I needed." Arbos held the egg aloft for a moment, two, and then brought it crashing down onto the ground. Kilgharrah roared with pain and grief and bounded into the clearing as the man gripped the baby's wings and tore them from its soft back. There was a gurgling cry, and it was silenced as Arbos dragged the head from the torso. His hands were coated in blood and he dragged them across his face, his mouth open and his tongue darting out to taste the only family Kilgharrah had left in the world._

 _Frenzied with sorrow and rage, Kilgharrah doused Arbos with flames, heedless to the spell the man had begun to chant. He was consumed with fire, but even as the scent of his flesh filled the clearing, he laughed._


	34. Lullaby

Arthur was in a council meeting discussing tax rates when he became suddenly aware of Merlin. It wasn't like the times when they talked in each other's heads; that was intentional. This wasn't. It was a surge of raw emotion—apprehension, fear, and above all, grief.

He had tensed in his seat, and Likmus looked at him curiously. "Everything alright, my lord?"

"Fine," the king said, but his voice shook. There was only one reason Merlin would feel that way. "Meeting adjourned." He stood, his chair drawing back with a harsh cry, and the councilmen sat in confused silence—save Likmus, who stood with Arthur.

"Shall I come with you?" He asked, looking concerned, and Arthur shook his head.

"It's private," the king said, and he walked briskly from the chambers. As soon as he was out of sight of the councilmembers, he began to run.

* * *

"Merlin?" Arthur burst through the entryway of the physician's quarters, his breathing heavy. "Merlin!"

There was no answer but Arthur knew where his friend would undoubtedly be. He took the steps two at a time and yet when he reached the door he stopped, and couldn't bring himself to push it open.

He had thought Gaius was dead, but now, even separated by a plane of wood, he knew the physician was still alive. He also knew he wouldn't remain as such for long. The sounds of his breathing were hoarse, ragged and wet, and punctuated by muted groans.

"I'm here, Gaius," Merlin was saying, and then Arthur heard something he'd never heard before, nor ever imagined.

Merlin was singing.

 _"_ _Xen sero yatí_

 _Fyjete poto speti,_

 _Ala thae medo._

 _Thamino._

 _Piato ses thaina sisto,_

 _Kito domatio sestoidio…"_

His voice was so low Arthur almost didn't hear it cracking, or the shuddering breaths between words.

 _"_ _O fovos deni ni skotini_

 _Sta perierda meri,_

 _Ya den parhun nichtes_

 _Sti zusta ya tuvtosas."_

There was a silence as the song ended, and then Merlin spoke.

"It's a lullaby," he said, and Arthur realized the sorcerer must have heard him standing behind the door. "My mother used to sing it to me when I was a child."

Arthur pushed the door open and stood at the foot of the bed for a moment. Gaius's eyes were closed and the rattling sounded even worse from inside the bedroom.

"Is he…" Arthur realized the answer to his own question and slid into the bedside chair where Merlin usually sat, covering his mouth with a hand.

"Before nightfall," Merlin said quietly.

"You should have been… a choirboy, instead of a physician's apprentice." The old man spoke in a halting whisper.

"Don't talk," the sorcerer murmured, hearing Gaius's lungs struggling to pull in enough air.

"I was so close," the physician continued, and blearily, he opened his eyes. One hand lifted from the sheet, pointing at a roll of parchment on the bedside table before falling back limply on the spread. "All my research. You can… you can finish it, Merlin. You have to." He blinked quickly. "I thought I had… enough time. I wanted to help."

"You've always helped me," Merlin soothed, but Gaius's eyes were rimmed with tears, and Arthur felt a dry ball in his throat and he looked away.

"I promised Hunith. I promised her."

"You've kept me alive, Gaius. If you weren't here I would have died a dozen times over."

Arthur kept staring at a single patch of light, shining against the wall. He watched the dust motes drifting lazily through the air. The light was dim.

"I'm so sorry, my boy, I'm so sorry." The old man was crying now and Arthur's teeth clenched. His eyes were burning. He couldn't swallow. "Merlin, she's in my head. She won't stop… she won't stop whispering…"

"Who?"

"Nimueh," Gaius whimpered. "She's right, it'll be my fault… I wasn't strong enough, I'm _sorry…"_ He was choking, sputtering, _weeping_ , and Arthur realized the patch of light was almost gone now. It was getting to be dusk.

"Nim—" Merlin tensed, but he seemed to steady himself, and his voice became soothing once again. "Gaius, whatever she's saying—"

"If I had just held on. I'm the reason she's coming back, Merlin."

"Stop it." The sorcerer leaned forward and wiped the tear tracks from his mentor's face. "You are…the best man I…" his voice broke, and he swallowed, and when he spoke again his voice was a little huskier, but clear. "You did the best you could, Gaius, and it has always been more than enough for me."

The physician's breath was coming louder, now, and although Arthur couldn't hear it, the man's heartbeat was slowing, too.

"I'll have—" Merlin's voice broke again, and Arthur turned in time to see his shoulders shaking. "I'll have your favorite meal waiting for you."

The old man smiled as his eyes finally closed, and where there was once the sound of labored breathing, there was silence. It remained unbroken for a moment, two.

 _Took him long enough,_ Nimueh said, her voice ringing like crystal in Merlin's head.

Arthur made to step forward when Merlin screamed. The sound was drawn out, stretching into an inhuman roar as his tears shook themselves free. Already his eyes burned gold.

" _Merlin,_ _ **don't!"**_ Arthur cried, but the warlock was sprinting out of the physician's chambers even as his skin began to harden into darkly glittering scales. " _You can't!"_

Merlin didn't hear Arthur, and if he had, he wouldn't care.


	35. Requiem

_A/N: I know it's been a while and I apologize. I've been trying to get an online shop for my art up and running, and it's kept me pretty busy._

* * *

Arthur had set Likmus up with a chamber of his own, and he ran there now, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Likmus!" he cried as soon as he neared the doorway.

"Yes, my lord?" The Druid looked up and Arthur observed there was a white powder dusting his cheeks and hair. Suddenly, sickeningly, he saw a pestle in Likmus's hand, and realized he was grinding up Balinor's bones. There was no time for squeamishness, however.

"The spell. The Dragon King or whatever it was called. You have to do it now."

"So soon? My lord, if we—"

"It's not for Morgana. It's for Merlin."

Likmus rose to his feet, his expression bewildered, and Arthur wondered if he hadn't caught a hint of partially concealed anger there.

"Sire, if I may… _respectfully…_ advise—"

"He's gone, Likmus, and I need you to bring him back."

"The materials for the spell are unbelievably rare, sire. If I use them now, for Merlin, it may be months before I can ready the spell again for Morgana. That's assuming I can even perform it a second time. The Pool of Nemhain is difficult at best to reach, and unless you know where a second Dragonlord is buried-"

"I don't care," Arthur interjected. "Merlin's flying right into a trap and I can't get through to him."

"I understand the gravity of the situation, my lord, but think of Camelot. What if Morgana was to launch an attack now? We'd be entirely vulnerable. For all we know, she could have been waiting for this very moment."

Arthur paused, his mind in turmoil. The idea of Merlin in danger had been blinding, but Likmus was right. He couldn't forsake the safety of his kingdom.

"There has to be something else you can do. Some other spell." He alighted on the dragonskin book and thrust it at the Druid. "We've got to hurry."

"My lord, I am in the midst of preparing the _drakalos tossa._ Do you think it wise to leave it unfinished with the threat of an attack looming?"

"Can't you just _try_?" Arthur glared at Likmus, who suddenly seemed very recalcitrant.

"Of course." He appeared to recollect himself and even formed a smile as he leafed through the book. "Although I doubt there will be anything here, sire."

There was a pause, broken every few moments by the sound of shuffling pages.

"There's nothing," Likmus said finally.

"Not in that book, no." Arthur squared his shoulders, and it became apparent very quickly that he was far taller and stronger than the Druid. "I'm sure you have others. I just need to talk to him. He's too far, and I'd only be reaching the dragon part of him, besides. I need to talk to _Merlin._ "

"I might know a spell," Likmus admitted. "Not overly difficult, either." He gestured to a worktable not unlike the one in Gaius's chambers as he rifled through boxes and shelves, procuring a bowl of opal. It glittered with rich greens and blues, but when Likmus poured the contents of a few vials into its depths, the stone turned jet black. "Forgive me sire, but might I… That is, for the spell, I…"

"Out with it, we don't have all day."

"I need a drop of your blood, sire." He was holding out an ornamental dagger as if to prick Arthur himself, but the king glowered at him and took the blade, swiping it across his palm and squeezing until rivulets of crimson ran from his hand and into the fount. As when Likmus had added the vials, the opal changed again. Now the bowl itself was as clear as glass, but nebulas of black and electric crimson hung, frozen, in its walls.

"You may reach out to him now," Likmus leaned back.

"How?" Arthur stared down at the inky liquid and was surprised to find no reflection staring back.

"It's difficult to explain to an… erm, to someone without magic." He paused. "Everyone has an aura, sire. You're calling out to Merlin's. It might be hard for you to picture, so perhaps it might be easier to imagine memories. His voice, his face. It's a little more rudimentary, but it should still work."

 _"_ _Are those my sausages?"_

 _"_ _Mm."_

 _"_ _You took them."_

 _"_ _To keep you in shape."_

 _"_ _Are you saying I'm fat?"_

 _"_ _No!... Well, not yet."_

 _"_ _I am not fat!"_

 _"_ _You see? It's working!"_

 _"_ _You coughed. Deliberately."_

 _"_ _Ah. I knew you would discover my secret in the end. There is just no fooling you, my lord._

 _"_ _If I need a servant in the next life—"_

 _"_ _Don't ask me!"_

 _"_ _I always thought that if things had been different, we'd have been good friends."_

 _"_ _Yeah."_

* * *

 _꜡ⱷⱵⱴⱶ, ȝͱƣƪ!_

There was a sound in his head, not quite speech. It were familiar enough that Emrys understood someone was trying to communicate with him, someone he knew, someone he trusted, but there was something far more pressing on his mind and he ignored the cries.

 _ **ⱷⱵⱴⱶ! ƪⱵⱷɕȝⱷ!**_

He was a creature of rage. He had awoken as if from a dream, and all he knew was a terrible sense of loss and anger. Something had been lost. Someone. And just as he knew that something awful had occurred, he also knew that the one who had done it was waiting for him in the west.

He could feel it even now—a blackness radiating from the shore where he'd been born. It wasn't a single aura like everyone else he'd ever met, a spot of light and existence; this being contained no light at all. It was the absence of light, and it was massive. It ebbed and pulsed around a point. It was trying to speak to him, too, in hundreds of different tongues, and one was in a language he could understand.

 _Come and play,_ it said. _I'm waiting._

He sped on and soon he could see the ruins of the Isle of the Blessed rising in his vision, a dark tower surrounded on all sides by what could only be an army. Warning bells were pinging in his head, and he would have ignored them all, had one not been accompanied by a burst of gold.

 _Merlin._

It was the yellow light and he recognized it instantly. At first it was from a dream, then from the woods, then from Avalon. And he was saying a name and it wasn't Emrys but it was his all the same.

 _Merlin, please, turn back._

The voice made him want to sleep—no, to change, he recognized, but he was getting so close to the isle and to the one who had killed—

 _Gaius, his name was Gaius_ , another voice was saying. The one who had been trying to reach him before. Somehow the man from Avalon had broken through and now the other was speaking urgently.

Other names were coming back in a flurry and now he wasn't Emrys, he was Merlin.

 _It's a trap. Nimueh will kill you._ It was Arthur.

 _You have to change back now, before you're lost again,_ Kilgharrah said.

 _Come home._

"Nimueh's army." His wingbeats faltered but they did not stop. "She'll attack Camelot."

 _Her army is too great for you to face alone, young warlock. It can and will be defeated, but not like this._

"She killed Gaius," Merlin said, and the memories were flooding in, and they _hurt._ "I can't… He can't…"

 _Come home, Merlin,_ Arthur repeated softly.

Merlin turned around.


	36. East of Nimueh

_A/N: I don't know if any of my original readers will still be reading this. If you are, I'm sorry for the one-year gap. Stick with me a little longer and I'll try and pick this back up. X_

* * *

"Son of a whore," Nimueh murmured.

She had felt a sudden jolt—of life, she supposed, even though it felt an awful lot like lightning, and then she had looked down to find her hands had lost their transparency. She had actually stumbled on her parapet and almost fallen (ending her newfound life) because she had forgotten the immense weight that came with having a real body. The old man had finally died, and that meant that his pet sorcerer would be on his way. She could feel his approach. He was practically a bullet of rage and power and Nimueh began to laugh, and below her her beautiful, hideous soldiers shuffled soundlessly into formation. She could _see_ Merlin on the horizon… and then he turned around.

"Son of a _whore_."

For a moment she stood frozen, too confused to be angry. A battle strategy, maybe. It had to be. Surely he was banking around somewhere, to strike from the back. Gaius was dead. Nimueh could feel Merlin's fury; hell, every Druid within a thousand miles probably felt it, too. So why did he turn?

"No matter," Nimueh held her hand out at length, admiring the milk-white, unblemished skin. "If you don't want to play… I can come to you."

* * *

Arthur was watching from the windows of his chamber when he caught sight of the black silhouette, barely visible as it coursed through the night sky. By the time he made it out to the courtyard, Merlin was a man once again, staring out at the woods with slumped shoulders.

"I ought to put you back on polishing duty for running off like that," he joked, albeit hesitantly. "You had-"

 _me_

"-us all worried."

"I thought I was lost," Merlin said distantly. "You brought me back." He turned away from the woods, fixing Arthur with a strange, hollow look. "How did you do that? Even Kilgharrah couldn't get through."

"Likmus used a spell." He said it nonchalantly but the sorcerer grew rigid, his face drawn.

"Arthur, that man is dangerous."

"He's the reason I was able to bring you back at all, Merlin. Why—"

"He's a liar, Arthur. Likmus is evil. He used to hunt dragons!"

There was an uncomfortable silence, and Merlin's eyes widened.

"You _knew_."

Arthur opened his mouth and then closed it, crossing his arms over his chest. He had been a fraction away from telling Merlin everything right there and then, but it wasn't the time.

"He mentioned something like that," he said instead, and the warlock looked angry, but not as angry as he might have been. He merely gritted his teeth before speaking.

"I need to speak with him."

"Merlin—"

"Relax. I'm not going to eat him or anything." There was a dark cast to his face which made his comment seem deadly serious. "As much as it… _disgusts_ me—"

"That's not fair," Arthur protested, but Merlin continued, unperturbed.

"I might need his help." He looked physically nauseated. "I can't beat Nimueh on my own."

"We can go see him tomorrow," the king suggested, but Merlin shook his head.

"No. Now." The ex-servant now spoke with a newfound authority to his voice that Arthur almost admired. "Nimueh's got a massive army, and it's some very dark magic. I don't know what she's waiting for, but when she comes, we've got to be ready."

"This way," Arthur said, and he prayed fervently that Likmus had put away the damned pestle and mortar.

The Druid had apparently been sleeping before the two men burst into his room. Arthur had made to knock on the door, but Merlin burst past him.

"Wake up, Arbos," he said, and his eyes glowed as the quilt flew off of the sleeping man's back and across the room.

"Arbos?" Arthur repeated. "His name is—"

"My lord, is something the matter?" The Druid sat up, disheveled, and when his gaze landed on Merlin, it became a look of hostile surprise. He quickly shook himself, taking on a polite confusion, but the unfriendly look had not been lost on Merlin.

"I believe you've met the—"

"What do you know about dark armies?" Arthur had never seen his friend so antagonistic, and he was taken aback.

"I'm afraid I don't—"

"There's an army at least 500 strong approaching from the Isle of the Blessed."

"500 is hardly a fearsome—"

"They're not human soldiers, _Likmus_. I've never seen anything like it."

"That's very old magic," Likmus said musingly. "I believe I came across it in the Triple Goddess texts—"

Merlin was out the door before Likmus could finish.


	37. Two Kisses

"Can I help you with something?" Geoffrey said hurriedly, straightening in his seat as Merlin entered. The old librarian's eyes were red-rimmed, and his rigid expression fell away when he recognized Gaius's ward. "Merlin. I was so sorry to hear—"

"Do you have the Triple Goddess texts?" Merlin asked, his voice quiet.

"Triple..?" Geoffrey faltered. "I-I'm certain there's a copy in the back somewhere, but what on earth—"

"Please," Merlin interjected again, and something about his gaze gave the librarian pause.

"Give me a moment," he whispered, and retreated behind a shelf.

Merlin could hear him shuffling down the row, muttering to himself as he pulled out and replaced several tomes. At that moment Arthur entered the chamber, apparently out of breath.

"What in the hell was that all about?" He asked lowly, watching for Geoffrey. "You know Likmus?"

"I need him gone," Merlin said, and Arthur glanced over to see the normally amiable face drawn and hard. "After all this is over."

"Why did you call him Arbos?"

"Because…" Merlin trailed off as Geoffrey emerged, clasping a book bound in dark leather. He handed it to Merlin, nodding to Arthur, but he looked unspeakably frightened.

"That book ought to have been destroyed," he whispered, and Arthur frowned. "Merlin… please. Be safe."

* * *

Morgana sat up in bed, and in the trees just beyond her hut, Aithusa stirred. Outside, there was chaos. She felt Merlin first. It was grief unlike anything she had ever experienced and she gasped, feeling tears roll down her face even despite her hatred for the boy. She knew instantly that Gaius had died.

At the same moment there was an impact in the west, a motion so powerful it sent shockwaves rippling through the hearts and minds of every Druid in a massive radius. Morgana jumped, recognizing at once the woman who had called out to her and Aithusa.

 _Hello, Morgana,_ she said, as clearly as if she was in the same room. _It's time for you to join me, pet._

Aithusa shuddered, standing and looking in the direction of Nimueh's ruins. There was a terrible smell emanating from there, even at such a distance. It was the smell of death, bloodless and heavy.

"Join you?"

 _We are the last of the Priestesses, sister. I want you by my side when I crush Camelot, and Merlin along with it. Your dragon will know where to find me. We must prepare._

* * *

"She's not coming," Merlin said. His voice sounded distant as he gazed through the window, towards the White Mountains and beyond.

"What?" Arthur roused himself from where he'd been slumped, half-asleep, at the Round Table. Merlin had been reading from Geoffrey's book, but the language was foreign, and after a while the king had started to doze off.

"She's waiting for something."

"More soldiers?" Arthur waved over a herald, who had been weaving slightly on his feet by the door. "Alert the guards. I want patrol parties traveling as far as the edge of the woods. If her army moves, I need to hear about it."

"At once, sire!" The herald bowed deeply.

"And… get some sleep, would you?" The boy's apparent tiredness had not been lost on the king, and Arthur smirked as he left. The smirk died away as he turned back to his companion, bent low over the texts again. "Merlin?"

"I haven't found anything yet." He didn't lift his eyes from the page.

"Merlin."

This time, he did look up, and Arthur sighed. He looked terrible.

"Nimueh's not on her way yet." He cleared his throat. "So… we have time."

"All the time in the world won't matter if I can't find out how to stop that army," Merlin returned to his reading, and Arthur reached out and closed the book.

"Merlin, we have to talk about…" He cleared his throat again, but it still felt terribly tight. "Gaius needs a funeral."

All the life seemed to ebb right out of Merlin's demeanor. It was like watching him crumple into himself. He looked years older and somehow he seemed smaller, too—no longer a sorcerer, or a dragon. He was a boy who had just lost the closest thing he had to a family, and he hadn't yet given himself time to mourn.

"Is he still…" Merlin looked away at a harsh angle, doing his best to hide his face, but Arthur could still see it contorting. "Is he still… in his… ch-ch…" He broke off and his bony shoulders started to shake.

"He's in his bed," Arthur said quietly. "We wanted him to be comfortable."

Merlin nodded, still facing the wall, one hand gripping the lower half of his face like he was trying to keep something in. It seemed to escape anyways because Arthur could hear sobs.

Arthur didn't know what to say. _I'm sorry_ felt too small. Too powerless. So he did the only thing he could think of. He stood and approached Merlin's seat, paused, and then drew him into a hug. It felt awkward—more like a mother holding her child than a man comforting his friend.

 _(So stupid, this is so awkward, I'm a king, for God's sake, and we're both grown men—)_

And suddenly Merlin twisted into him, crying into his chest. Arthur's own eyes burned and he didn't speak. At some point his gaze drifted to the doorway, and he caught a glimpse of Gwen standing in the doorway in her nightgown. There were tears glittering on her cheeks and when she caught Arthur's eye, she gave him a wavering smile and kissed two fingertips gently—one for her husband, and one for her friend. She retreated, and Arthur felt a guilty surge of warmth in his chest knowing that she would be up waiting for him, to comfort him, and that he wouldn't be alone. Not like Merlin.

Arthur held Merlin for a while longer. He didn't want to be the first to pull away and so he waited until the sorcerer finally leaned back, wiping his eyes. They were as red as flame.

"I'm okay," he said, with a smile that was more like a grimace. "We can... Tomorrow. We'll bury him tomorrow."

Arthur nodded, and made to sit back down.

"Get out of here." Merlin's smile looked a little more natural now as he waved the king away. "I saw you sleeping earlier. Go get some rest. I'll work on this a little more."

Arthur left with little protest.


	38. The Physician's Funeral

Merlin leaned back with a sigh, running a weary hand over his face. He had passed the night at the Round Table, poring over Geoffrey's texts, and now he watched the sun rise. It was a beautiful sight. The day was cloudy; it would likely rain later, but for the moment, the coverage was spotty enough that the gold of the sun was visible through it, starting at the horizon and slowly creeping upwards. The entire sky was cast with bronze.

Outside the room where Merlin sat, the castle was awakening. He could hear servants chattering softly as they began their rounds.

"Merlin?" Percival edged through the doorway, not meeting the sorcerer's eyes. "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay," he lied.

"I just… We're, ah…" Merlin had never seen the man so flustered before, and he was about to laugh when Percival began again. "They're getting Gaius ready right now. For the… They were thinking mid-morning."

"Where?" His voice sounded hoarse.

"Still in his chambers, but they're building the pyre in the courtyard." Percival looked helpless, which was rare. "Arthur sent me with these." He held out a parcel which Merlin hadn't noticed in his hands. It was his Royal Sorcerer robes, and he noticed with a detached sense of amusement how fitting it was that they were black. On top was his red kerchief, probably from Gwen. "He thought you might not want to go back to Gaius's rooms. I'll be outside."

Percival left, closing the doors to the hall behind him, and Merlin knew that he was standing watch outside. He dressed quickly, but hesitated before calling the knight. Instead, he walked to the window and looked out- not at the sunrise this time, but at the men stacking wood in the courtyard. Around them, people were gathered, watching. Some appeared to be crying. By now the news of Gaius's death had spread through the castle, and Merlin thought to himself that most of them would be in attendance. The physician had been well loved.

There was nothing to do, so Merlin stayed in the same room. Percival opened the door and said goodbye, but he stayed in the hall, out of sight. The knight probably wanted to ensure nobody bothered Merlin, but it was doubtful that anyone would have entered anyways. Their voices, so loud in the stone hallways, grew silent when they passed the open door. A few cast furtive glances inside, and waited until they turned a corner to resume talking (even though Merlin could still hear them, regardless).

He sat listlessly, watching the sun carve its path through the sky. The clouds were building. It had begun to drizzle when Arthur walked into the chamber.

"It's time," he said.

* * *

The procession was very small, as there wasn't much of a distance to travel. Someone (presumably Gwen) had changed Gaius into fine robes that Merlin had never seen before, and laid him out on a bier. Several knights in full armor, including Percival, lifted him slowly and began the short walk to the courtyard. When they emerged from the castle, Merlin was taken aback. The crowd he had imagined had arrived threefold. It seemed people had made the journey from all around the kingdom, and at the front of the throngs, nearest to the pyre, stood Alice. She staggered a little when she saw the body, her hand over her heart.

The knights who weren't holding the bier were in formation on the castle steps, bearing crimson flags. At the very top step stood Arthur and Gwen.

The procession reached the pyre and gently lowered the body to waist level so Merlin could cover Gaius with a shroud. He held onto the fabric for a moment. It was a rich material, the likes of which covered only the highest noblemen, and he watched it ripple in the breeze before letting it descend onto the body. He pulled the shroud over the physician's face with agonizing slowness, lingering over the closed eyes as his hands began to shake.

"Goodbye," he whispered, and stepped back.

The knights raised the bier again and positioned it carefully on the pyre before joining the formation on the steps. Merlin stood alone. He reached out and touched the wood, and fought to control his breathing. He no longer needed a word to conjure flame. It raced from his fingertips, racing up the pyre with no heed to the dampness of the wood.

The rain continued, not heavy but constant and cold as ice. The fire, fueled by magic, burned anyways. Nobody left. If Merlin had looked around, he would have seen grief in every face in the courtyard; he could hear the cries, but he had eyes only for the figure at the top of the pyre.

 _Goodbye_ _._

* * *

It had been a long, long time since Morgana left her hut. The last time she was outside, she had literally had her face burned off, after which her bed had suited her just fine. She walked unsteadily, faltering on disused legs, and Aithusa stayed patiently next to her. By now she had grown so large that she eclipsed her mistress, and even her mistress's hut, and so Morgana could only reach the lower half of the dragon's leg. This she clung to, her other hand sweeping the air in shaky passes. It was time to meet her sister.

Aithusa gently gathered a heap of the back of Morgana's dress between her teeth, being careful not to rip the fabric, and lifted the witch onto her own back. Morgana had been gripping the scale necklace, and for a moment after the dragon had set her down, she caught a glimpse of herself. She felt like vomiting. A fresh wave of hatred for Merlin gripped her.

She was used to watching Aithusa flying from her bed, but she had forgotten the feeling of actual flight. The wind buffeted her back, shooting stinging, harsh pellets of rain at her face, but she relished the cool. Sometimes Aithusa would find a draft to ride, and they would suddenly jolt up or down and Morgana would make a garbled noise of excitement.

Aithusa wished they were riding somewhere else. It had been a long time since she had felt her mistress's happiness, but Aithusa couldn't feel much joy because she could see the ruins drifting slowly towards them from the horizon. She had a terrible feeling about whatever was on that island.

* * *

 _A/N: Admittedly, I know very little about traditional Anglo-Saxon 5th-6th century burials. I did a little research and found that cremation was the most common choice. I could have done more reading, but in the interest of posting a chapter tonight, I decided to go with a simple ritual. Apologies if anyone finds offense at any inaccuracy, but in the immortal words of Daniel Radcliffe, "I tried, and therefore no one should criticize me." -X_


	39. The Dragon's Egg

"Welcome, sister!" Nimueh was but a slim figure, high on a parapet, yet Morgana could hear her voice clearly as Aithusa landed. "Oh... my." She laughed sweetly, and the faceless soldiers standing between the newcomers and their mistress began to move. They linked limbs, lifting each other higher and higher until they made a 'living' staircase. There was an occasional tearing sound and limbs would fall to the ground, only to be assimilated by the nearest soldier. Nimueh walked gracefully down the newly-formed staircase without ever glancing at her feet. "Merlin really did a number on your face, didn't he, pet?"

Self-consciously, Morgana touched her cheek with her fingertips. With her other hand she had been gripping the scale, and she saw Nimueh's perfect face with a sorrowful envy. She had been that beautiful once. Nimueh tsked.

"A burn like that... I'm afraid that's beyond even my skills to heal. But between the two of us, I think we could conjure up a nice concealment spell, don't you?" She reached out, suddenly fixated on the scale around Morgana's throat, and the latter jerked back with a growl. "Use your words, won't you, sweetheart?" Nimueh chided, touching the pendant anyways. Her eyes glowed, and Morgana hesitantly focused on the scale, too. A moment passed, and then Nimueh stepped back with a satisfied smile.

"Did it work?" Morgana asked, and then she broke into tears. Her voice had none of the strange, lilted rasping she had grown accustomed to since the attack.

"There, there." Nimueh held out her hand and Morgana took it, and through Aithusa's eyes she saw herself as she had been long ago, before she left Uther's court. Even her robes were new, sleek and white as snow. "Merlin will be punished in due time. As will Arthur." She gestured at the soldiers, which by now had dis-attached themselves from the parapet and stood at attention. Morgana found them eerily expressive. The eyes were black pits that somehow seemed to focus on her (or rather, Aithusa), and their mouths gaped in deep frowns that might have been drawn by a child, with no apparent jaw structure. Had they been able to make any sounds, she had no doubt that they would be crying.

"What magic is this?" Morgana approached one of the creatures. It was swaying slightly, the head hanging to the side, and it pivoted its shoulders in a series of jerks to watch her approach.

"The best kind of magic." Nimueh joined her and, holding her fingers out daintily, pushed the creature's forehead so that it stumbled back. The frown widened but it made no sound, returning to its post. "The kind that happens right under King Arthur's nose."

* * *

Likmus had begun to attend to King Arthur less and less frequently. The king assumed that he was working on the _drakalos tossa_ , and he wasn't _wrong_ , exactly. It was only the method on which their understandings differed.

Gentle Arthur had been deeply disturbed on the subject of digging up the Dragonlord's bones. _(What a happy coincidence, that Balinor happened to be a Dragonlord.)_ Likmus smiled to himself as he worked. He had no idea what other ruse he would have had to employ to gain access to the bones of Merlin's father.

The book he had conjured for Arthur was not all lies. He merely... edited some parts.

It was true that a man who had been doused in the breath and the blood of a dragon could control most dragons. Likmus had seen this firsthand. He was the only survivor of three _llocidranae-_ dragon killers. Their work was not received well among most Druids. The trio saw themselves as noble warriors performing a service, seeking out and fighting only the dragons that ravaged villages. They fought with swords and rudimentary magic. The _drakalos tossa_ \- bathing oneself in the blood of an unborn dragon and allowing oneself to be burned by draconic flame- was a legend the men had all heard in their youth, but always ignored.

That is, until they met Krysa.

Likmus had heard the legend many times, and he hadn't put much stock in it until one of his companions, Risa, was killed. They were fighting the largest dragon they'd ever come across and their weapons just weren't enough. Likmus grew relentless. He no longer contented himself with hunting dragons that attacked Druids. He led his remaining partner Vys across Camelot, journeying through forests and mountain ranges in a deliberate search for dragons. He grew obsessed with finding a dragon egg. Word of his quest began to spread.

Krysa had abandoned his village a decade prior to Likmus's arrival, but the locals still remembered him well enough to tell his story to Likmus and Vys. He was the lord of a small dragon, Rhyos. The two had seemingly grown up together until, at the age of 35, Krysa had contracted an illness and died. Rhyvos, who was developmentally still a child, and therefore foolish, could not handle the grief. He performed the _emἀνæγρnσιc,_ and Krysa awoke as the dragon Kilgarrah.

Krysa, well-versed in the story of Fayder, understood the dangers of skinwalking too often. His powers would have likely gone unused, and Kilgarrah forgotten, had the Druid not met the dragoness Bydraea.

Dragons mate only once, and that companion is for life. This event is exceedingly special. It is said that dragons are born knowing the scent of their partner, and so will know them immediately when they find them. Such was the case with Bydraea and Krysa, and the man willingly sacrificed that of him which was Druid so that Kilgarrah and Bydraea might be together. The pair had one egg; all dragons and their mates will only ever have one egg in their lifetimes, and that egg will lie dormant until a Dragonlord commands it to hatch. The Druids had all heard of Kilgarrah and Bydraea's egg.

Likmus had heard of it, too.

The dragons had made their lair high in the Isgard mountains. As Likmus and Vys neared, Kilgarrah emerged and engaged them in battle so that Bydraea, who was too young and too small to fight, might escape with their egg. Likmus, so close to his target, was blinded by desire. He abandoned Vys to pursue Bydraea, and Vys, although a good fighter, died shortly thereafter. He delayed Kilgarrah for an hour at most, but it was just enough.

Kilgarrah followed his mate's scent to the woods, where he discovered her corpse. In a clearing just ahead Likmus was clutching his coveted egg.

Upon tearing apart the dragon child and reciting the requisite spell as an enraged Kilgarrah doused him with flame, the triskele tattoo on Likmus's forearm grew scarred and destroyed with the blackness of his magic.

That part of the book, then, was true.

The grinding of the bones served another purpose entirely.


	40. Lovers' Quarrel

The lawns outside of the castle were a constant buzz of activity from dawn till dusk in the days following Gaius's funeral. Footsoldiers worked on their swordsmanship under the guidance of knights. Druids perfected spells and tutored those who still struggled.

For a while Arthur practiced privately. George acted as his training dummy, toting shields and attempting to dodge the king's attacks; he even punctuated each blow with a strained remark- "Excellent hit, sire!" and the like. It should have been encouraging to work with a willing servant for once, but Arthur missed training with Merlin, and finally one day he sought him out.

The sorcerer was in his chambers as usual, poring over the Triple Goddess texts for what had to be the fourth or fifth time. He had grown incredibly reserved after the funeral. He never left his quarters, and although servants brought trays of food every meal, he rarely touched any of it. Whenever Arthur stopped by there was something indecipherable in Merlin's gaze, something deep and dark and frightening, and he hoped that getting some exercise might help bring him out of whatever he was grappling with.

"You know, I should really be the one summoning you." He leaned against the door frame, looking around the now-cluttered room. "Being the king and all."

" _Are_ you summoning me?" Merlin looked up from the notes he was writing. The shadows under his eyes were so dark that they might have been scales.

"Yes. It's about time you left this room." Arthur strode to the table and shut Merlin's book resolutely. "Up. We need to train."

"Isn't George supposed to help you?"

"He's too... cheerful. I guess I miss having a useless servant." Arthur grinned.

"If you think I'm hoisting shields for you again-"

"Just follow me."

* * *

They walked a ways past the rest of the soldiers before Arthur stopped, unsheathing his sword.

"I don't have a weapon!" Merlin groaned. "How is this any different from-"

"Sure you do. You can... do your _thing_. Whatever." Arthur shrugged as he assumed a ready stance. Without warning he charged. Instinctively Merlin shielded his face with his arm, ducking. He was shoved back slightly, and he heard a loud _clang_ and a surprised grunt.

Arthur was nodding, looking pleased, and Merlin lowered his arm to discover it plated in scales.

"You... _prat_!" Merlin didn't know if he was angry or amused. "What if I hadn't been able to do that in time?"

"I wanted to see if it was instinctive." Arthur's face was positively impish. "Anyways, dragons are basically lizards, so... I'm sure it would have grown back, right?"

Silence.

"Right?"

* * *

A curious semi-silence fell over the grounds as every training session ground to a halt, save one. The king and the Royal Sorcerer were battling.

It was like watching a man fight a small whirlwind. Arthur seemed at the onset much better equipped; he fought with a sword and shield, and Merlin was unarmed and admittedly somewhat more slight. Every time Arthur struck, however, Merlin brushed aside his sword like it was made of paper. His movements were quick, a blur of black, and the king seemed to move agonizingly slow in response. As the fight continued, some of the onlookers swore they heard the warlock laughing. Even those that didn't hear laughter, however, decidedly heard the shouted, breathless insults which seemed to be traded even quicker than the blows.

"I guess sitting...on your royal ass all-" ( _smash)_ "-day isn't doing you... any favors, Arthur!"

"You know, Merlin, I didn't think it was-" ( _clang) "-_ possible to find something you're... worse at than being a servant, but you're positively-" ( _thump)_ "-useless in a fight, too!"

"Dollop head!"

( _bang)_

"Idiot!"

( _muffled curses)_

"Clotpole!"

And so it continued. At some point Merlin began to strike back, his hands becoming claws which rent Arthur's shield, but it was clear he was holding back. He didn't use any magic- probably to avoid besting the king in front of all of his soldiers. At length the fight seemed to end mutually, with neither man willing to admit defeat, although Arthur's insults had been reduced to smaller and smaller words in between pants. When the attacks finally stopped, the grounds burst into cheers.

Merlin was exhausted, but he was surprised to discover himself smiling.

* * *

They walked back to castle together, still a little out of breath. Once they'd passed the soldiers still on the lawns, Arthur sheathed his sword, speaking quietly as he adjusted the straps.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on with you?"

"Gaius couldn't find anything that would help me to not... forget." Merlin pushed his hair, still damp with sweat, back from his face.

"So you don't shift until we find a solution." Arthur frowned. "Obviously."

"I have to, you ass." Merlin smiled crookedly, but his eyes were troubled. "Camelot can't fight off a dragon, a dead army, and two pissed off sorceresses. Not at once. Not without a dragon and a lot of luck."

"You can still fight," Arthur said, and something in his tone made Merlin think of Camlann, and he felt the ghost of Mordred's blade in his chest. Arthur sounded small, lost; not like a king but like a child, afraid. "You could have beaten me if you tried."

"Can I get that in writing?" The attempt to lighten the mood failed and he sighed. "It's not enough, Arthur."

"But if you forget everything then how will you know who to fight?" He stopped walking now. "It's too dangerous."

"I'll know." Merlin paused. "I'll know you, Arthur, which is why I asked you... why I need you to..." He looked away, seeing the panic growing in Arthur's eyes.

"I already told you, Merlin, I won't."

"Whatever happens after this battle, I wont _be_ Merlin anymore."

"I don't care! We have time, and I'll be damned if you start building up your pyre now." His voice had risen and it was shaking. He didn't look at Merlin. He didn't want to see the expression on the sorcerer's face, and so he took off in long, hurried strides. Merlin stood and watched him leave, and a wave of loneliness crashed over him.


	41. Hope

"It's time," Nimueh said, and Morgana started.

"Time? But we don't even have a plan. Do you expect to just march in there and-"

"Yes." The other witch blinked slowly, lazily.

"Maybe if Merlin wasn't there, but-"

"He won't be." Nimueh peered into her fount, brushing away an imagined smudge on her ivory cheeks and fussing with her hair. "Likmus has made certain of that."

* * *

Siege preparations were underway at the castle. Food and water had been stockpiled, and most unnecessary fabrics had been converted to bandages. Blacksmiths worked tirelessly making they were going, people walked fast, with their heads down and their voices low. Attack felt imminent.

Arthur and his knights rarely left the Round Table. Merlin joined them that day, the Triple Goddess texts tucked under one arm.

"What do we know about Nimueh's army?" Arthur said, fully outfitted in his battle gear despite the probable discomfort. His crown glinted harshly from where it was nested in his hair. Merlin paused before answering, his gaze lingering on Gwaine's empty seat. The look was not lost on Percival.

"Right, well. Near as I can tell, they're shades. The magic is way beyond me, and it should be way beyond Nimueh, too." He opened the book, flipping to a dogeared page. On it was a chilling illustration of a creature colored in a deep blue ink. The proportions seemed to be roughly that of a child, but the head was visibly detached and dangling by inky strings. The eyes were wells of black.

"So Nimueh was brought back to life by the Triple Goddess, along with a horde of... these things?" Sir Blaise, a new addition to the table, waved his hand at the grotesque drawing. "Why?"

"Well, I think we should focus on finding a way to stop them." Merlin sounded evasive, and Arthur leaned forward, his eyes narrowed.

"Merlin."

"Granted, I haven't figured that out yet, but-"

" _Merlin."_

"I think.." The sorcerer bit his lip, drumming his fingers on the table. "I think it's my fault."

"How could it possibly-"

"I wasn't supposed to save you. She sent Mordred to punish you for persecuting her people. People like me. And now the Old Religion isn't banned anymore..."

"But I'm still here," Arthur finished quietly.

 _None of us can choose our destiny, and none of us can escape it,_ Kilgarrah had said. Only they had, and now they would pay the price.

"I have an idea," Percival said suddenly, and several knights took the welcome opportunity to make a few jokes. "The Disir."

"He's right." Merlin, who had until then been slouching terribly, seemed to bolt upright. "If we can convince them that Camelot's been changed, we could have a chance."

* * *

Preparations were made immediately. They took a small party- only Percival, Arthur, and Merlin. In case of failure, it seemed wise to leave as many knights guarding the castle as possible.

The air was crisp, and filled with fog when they departed that morning. The only sounds were their horses' hooves on the cobblestones, and this faded upon crossing over to the muted forest floor. None of the men said so aloud, but all three were constantly scanning the woods ahead of them, imagining each shrub or crooked trunk to be one of the shades. Merlin was especially alert, listening intensely and scenting the air often. They were alone, but that only made him more worried. He could't hear a single bird in at least a mile radius, and he wondered if they sensed the trouble that lay in the west.

"What are we going to do if they won't listen?" Arthur said quietly.

"They will listen." Merlin refused to entertain the possibility that they would not, because although he had beaten fate once, he couldn't imagine surviving a second time. "Even if you have to get on your knees and beg. I only wish the rest of the knights could see."

The snarky comment, clumsily tacked on at the last moment, did little to assuage the king's distress, and so they lapsed into silence. The White Mountains loomed ahead of them, and even the midday sun couldn't break through the fog. They would reach the cave of the Disir by nightfall.

* * *

 _A/N: I've received a lot of reviews from guest readers lately. While I can't PM you personally, I still really appreciate each and every one. X_


	42. Clemency

The men all dismounted silently, each knotting their horses' leads to individual trees. There was no warning this time; their weapons were left alongside their horses. They had not even worn armor. The cave loomed ahead of them like a gaping maw, dark and silent.

Arthur walked in front, his steps measured and with no sign of hesitation even though his hands were balled into fists at his side. His breath was visible in the air in front of him. All were careful to avoid the runes and hanging charms, Percival especially.

"We did not expect to see you here again, Arthur Pendragon," Niede said. "It is not often that we are surprised."

"I know we didn't part on the best terms," Arthur said, and Merlin almost didn't recognize his voice. He spoke softly. Humbly. "I didn't heed your advice then."

"It should have cost you your life," Atorloppe's frown was visible under her cowl. It wasn't a look of displeasure or anger, but of fear.

"I came here to make amends." Arthur stepped forward, his hands open in front of him. "Camelot is not the same place it once was. The Old Religion is welcome in the kingdom again."

"Too little, too late," Befelen sighed. "The Triple Goddess decreed you were to die for your obstinacy, like your father."

"But I've changed," Arthur pleaded, and he lowered himself to his knees. Without his crown, kneeling in the dirt, he could have been anybody. "My people will die."

Merlin suddenly emerged from behind Percival and kneeled next to Arthur, who cast him a look of confusion.

"You," Befelen leaned forward, her staff trailing towards him like a finger. "You, too, were a surprise."

"If I could speak-"

"Merlin, what are you doing?" Arthur hissed, but the sorcerer brushed him off.

"According to the Old Religion, the Triple Goddess is made of three parts: the Maiden, the Matron, and the Crone. If we cannot appeal to all three of them then please, let the Mother hear us."

Atorloppe nodded after a moment's debate.

"The Druids are her people. They worship her and she protects them from their enemies like Uther. Can we not call them her children?"

A faint smile was playing at Niede's lips.

"Arthur was a threat to her people, true. But he is a threat no longer. Magic is practiced openly in the streets. Druids- her sons and daughters- have been welcomed again. But now their mother sends an army to wipe them out- and Morgana and Nimueh _will_ wipe us out. You're seers. You know this. So we ask the Mother to spare her children."

"It is not that simple," Atorloppe sighed. "By changing your destiny, you completely ignored a decision set forth by the highest power in the universe. It sent a message that you believe yourself to be as powerful as She."

"She knows my heart, and so do you," Merlin persisted. "I didn't act out of disrespect or rebellion."

"No," Niede admitted. "It was love."

"And as a result, her initial demands _were_ fulfilled," Arthur added.

"But what if others follow your example, however motivated? What if people lose faith in the Old Religion?" Atorloppe was shaking her head.

"Then we set a better example!" Arthur leapt to his feet. His eyes were bright. They were close. "We can build an edifice. Make offerings. Anything."

The Disir turned away, speaking in strange whispers, and Merlin stood, giving Arthur a look. He knew that in any other setting, had someone accused him of acting in the name of love where Arthur was concerned, he would have earned a seriously bruised arm.

"The Goddess is not unkind," Befelen held her staff out again, and Merlin realized that all three of the women were smiling. "To forgive is the greatest show of power, after all."

"You will build a place of worship, protected within the kingdom walls. There you will make offerings at every harvest, and at every full and half moon. The first of these offerings must be made by you, King Arthur of Camelot." Atorloppe said.

"I am grateful for her mercy," Arthur said seriously, and then broke into the biggest smile Merlin had seen in weeks. "Thank you. Thank you!"

As they left the cave Arthur draped his arm over Merlin's shoulders, shaking him vigorously before ruffling his hair. "We're saved."


	43. Fey

The construction of the shrine began immediately.

To Arthur, it felt like a gamble. Skilled workers were being taken from their jobs, forging weapons and fortifications, for the purpose of building a shrine to a goddess many were yet uncomfortable with. It would be lavish. Arthur feared anything less might not save his people, and he could not afford to insult the Triple Goddess any further besides. Luckily he found a surge of Druid volunteers. In fact, he could not help but feel almost grateful for the task; prior to this moment he had observed a certain unease in the streets between Druids and men. While a good number of the Druids had stepped up to be in his armies, eager to prove they would be a valuable asset to Camelot, others regarded him and his people with open distrust. Magic had been allowed once before in the kingdom, and that era had ended in slaughter, so Arthur did not find their wariness unfounded. However, the construction of the temple seemed to be exactly what was needed to placate the Druids new to Camelot.

The building came along far quicker than Arthur had anticipated. Under the care of several of the more powerful Druids, sheets of dark rock seemed to slide right out of the ground, forming walls and columns with apparent ease. It was a relatively small temple, as the Disir had stipulated it be within the castle walls, but it was spared no luxury. Some of the castle's treasury went towards gilt leaf which traced symbols several Druids had etched in the nine columns which lined the back and two sides of the temple, three at every side. There was no door, merely an entryway into which several craftsmen had begun to carve miniature murals.

The entryway opened into a small chamber. It was dark, lit only by the light spilling in from the front, but Arthur had ordered several braziers be crafted out of iron and gold. A table had been constructed by several Druids, pulled out of the earth from the same shale as the building itself. This was tucked into a curved extrusion which would serve as the altar itself. More artists were busy making three statues- the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone. They would reside in the niche, under three moons- two silver crescents, and one, golden, full.

Likmus watched the activity outside, at first apathetic, then with gradual horror. He had initially assumed that the poor idiots were building some useless thing to help them in the upcoming battle. An arsenal, an infirmary outside the castle. They were probably that dumb. But as more of the structure arose, he grew suspicious, and began to watch more closely. The pillars were erected, and suddenly, he knew, but the panic hadn't set in yet.

"Do you really think a shabby temple will save you, Arthur?" He laughed to himself, shaking his head wonderingly.

The panic didn't set in until Arthur came into his chambers a couple of days after construction had begun.

"My lord." He was quick to bow, to show subservience in any way he could. It was a game, really. How odious could he be, when really, he was the one with the power? It was difficult to keep a straight face.

"I have great news, Likmus." Arthur was smiling too, a strange half-smirk that the Druid didn't understand. "I'm afraid I won't be needing your services anymore."

"M-my lord-"

"I won't kick you out of your chambers, of course. You can take as much time as you need to find suitable lodgings." He spoke so calmly. So cheerfully, like a man discussing fair weather. How could he be so placid when Likmus himself was boiling inside? "You have been of help to me, and I will happily compensate you for your services."

"B-But... what about the spell? It's almost-"

"I have no use for it anymore." Arthur spoke respectfully, but in Likmus's ears he sounded gleeful. And suddenly the Druid understood. He had seen the small party leave, and he had noticed their lack of weapons. He had written it off as a combination of their boundless stupidity and their ill-placed faith in the great _Merlin_ 's power. But now he realized where they had gone. They had been to see the Disir.

With a great effort, Likmus wrenched up a smile. "How... _fortunate."_

The king nodded, gave that crooked smirk again, and turned to walk away. Likmus sucked in a breath, ready to scream, ready to rage as soon as the spoiled, stupid, _stupid_ bastard left- and Arthur paused.

"As far as the disposal of the... erm... materials..."

"Consider it handled, my lord," Likmus said, using his best toadying voice even as his hands flickered between balled fists and shaking things with fingers spread out wide, the veins bulging over tension-whitened skin.

"I won't forget all you've done for me, Likmus." It was meant as a peace offering, a pitying favor in the future, perhaps, but Likmus's smile in response was genuine.

 _No, Arthur Pendragon. You won't forget. You'll never forget. Not until the day you die._

And that day would be soon.


	44. Goodbyes

There just wasn't enough time.

The sentries had come tearing through the gates, crashing past the incomplete temple, their horses foaming and bucking wildly at the reins as their riders dismounted.

"News?" Arthur asked, knowing the worst had come.

"Nimueh marches," one of the knights said, and several passerby stopped, their eyes wide. Arthur ushered the man inside. Merlin and several of the other knights rose to their feet from where they'd been sitting at the Round Table. "It was just... a wave of _black_ , riding over the hill for miles."

"And the dragon?"

"Flying overhead," the sentry finished quietly. "It's massive."

"But I thought that your... _goddess_ was going to stop the attack." One of the younger knights looked at Merlin accusingly.

"The temple's not finished. No sacrifices have been made." Merlin closed his eyes. "She has no reason stop the army yet."

"How fast were they moving?" Arthur sounded distant.

"Fast." The knight shook his head. "I estimate they'll be here by nightfall."

Silence fell.

"I'll talk to the builders. They're almost done. There's a chance," Merlin spoke earnestly, but Arthur guessed it was for everyone else's benefit. He doubted the sorcerer believed it.

"Get the troops armed. I want a final perimeter sweep, and a recount of our weapons and our rations." Arthur took a deep breath and stood as Merlin walked outside. He headed for his own chambers, gesturing for George to follow, but Gwen shook her head.

"I can do it," she said, her lips in a smile but her eyes grim.

She dressed him in silence, pausing and running her fingers over the polished metal of his chestplate, still laying on the bedspread.

"Gwen..."

"We have a chance. Merlin said so." She sounded cheerful but she wouldn't meet his gaze and Arthur caught her chin gently. Her eyes were the color of summer afternoons, he thought. Dark and fiery but warm, too, and even though they were filled with tears he had never seen anything more beautiful.

"My queen," he said, and she tried to turn away but now he grasped her face in both hands. It seemed to Gwen that he was drinking her up, like he was trying to preserve that very moment forever. "I love you."

"Stop it," she pleaded, forcing down a sob as she saw his expression. He was looking through her now, like a man on the gallows looking out over the crowd. She had lost him before the battle even begun. "Arthur, stop it. Stop it now. Stop. _Stop."_ She beat on his chest, without strength, and he pulled her tightly to his chest.

"Gwen, tell me you love me," he said softly, his voice muffled in her hair. She hesitated. She wanted so badly to refuse, because then maybe he wouldn't fight, maybe he wouldn't leave until he heard the words..

"I love you," she said.

* * *

The Druids working on the temple were working faster now. They might actually finish the temple by nightfall, not that it mattered anyway. It would be too late. Merlin knew it even before leaving the Round Table, and Arthur knew it, too. So Merlin visited the temple, and then returned to his chambers, and for the first time in a very long time, he shut the door behind him.

A shaft of light, crisp and yellow with the cheery midmorning sun, illuminated swaths of dustmotes drifting lazily through the air. The room was much as Gaius left it. There were a few new books, and stacks of notes, but otherwise Merlin had left the physician's things untouched. His ghost seemed to fill every corner of the room, every crevice, and it felt as if he was just out of sight, maybe reading in his bed or fishing for a bottle in a low cupboard. Maybe he was waiting for Merlin to say goodbye, except that Merlin already had, at the funeral. And yet, there was a goodbye to be said.

He sat down at the cluttered table and began to write.

* * *

 _To my mother_

 _I hope you're doing well. I've missed you more than I can say. A lot has happened since I saw you last, and I owe you so much more than a letter. You deserve more than a letter. But I've waited too long, and it's too late._

 _Things happened. I got sick, in a way. Gaius died. And magic has returned to Camelot. But Nimueh is returning too, and I'm afraid. I am not a fighter, but my fate has always been to serve Arthur and the future of Albion. And that is what I'm doing, and that is why you're receiving this letter. Because I did what I had to do._

 _I'm sorry._

Merlin stopped, realizing his quill was trembling in his hands, leaving inky drops on the parchment. He read over what he had written and in a sudden motion he crumbled it up, throwing it across the room. It was not enough.

 _I've waited too long, and it's too late._


	45. Beginning of the End

The sunset that day was gorgeous, red like blood and wine and fire. From the window Arthur couldn't see the army yet, but he doubted it would be long now. He felt, rather than heard, Merlin slide up next to him.

"They're slowing down," the sorcerer observed quietly. To him the army was a black line, distant, strangely vibrating as they approached.

"But not stopping."

"No," Merlin turned away from the glass. "Not stopping."

"And the temple..."

The sorcerer shook his head and there was a silence between the two men. Both had much to say. Neither had the courage to say it.

"I'll put it off as long as I can," Merlin finally said.

"Merlin-"

"There's no other way." Arthur looked over at the sorcerer and saw his jaw was clenched, his eyes trained on the opposite wall. His expression was agonized. "I wish... I wish there was."

"Merlin, what we talked about... I can't."

Merlin nodded, his face tight. "I know."

The light was fading in the sky, fading fast.

"I love you," Arthur said suddenly, his voice low. Merlin finally looked at him and a flicker of surprise passed over his features, which he hid with a smirk.

"I thought I was useless." The humor was a little forced but it was necessary, desperately so, and Arthur played along.

 _Pretend_ _that we're j_ _ust like we used to be._

"Oh, as a servant, completely. But that's my fault," he patted Merlin's shoulder with a pitying grimace. "I gave you the wrong job. You ought to have been the court ass."

"I heard the job was already taken." The impish smile might have been real, and for a moment things really did feel like they were, not so long ago. But his smile faded, his gaze returning to the window, and to the army which was now visible to Arthur as well. "I love you, too."

The sky was now a bruised purple. Stars were appearing, and Arthur took a deep breath. It was nearly time.

* * *

They herded the women and children into the castle, where they would be best protected. Every man who was able to hold a sword was given one, and Arthur was filled with fear when he looked at them. There were boys who looked no older than 15, and old men who ought to have been sitting by a fire with their families. Everyone could see the army now, and the streets were silent, save for the Druids who still worked on the temple.

War had come to Camelot.

* * *

High on the parapets, archers watched the shades' approach with fear. It was eerie. They marched in a legion of at least 500, and yet they were silent. There were no torches among them, no banners. They could only make out swatches of darkness between the trees.

The men readied their arrows, dipping the tips in oil and lighting them on fire. Their faces were cast in orange and they waited for the signal, holding their breath, arms trembling in anticipation and in fear.

"Fire," someone shouted, and a volley of light arched over the castle walls to meet the strange half-men spilling out of the forest.

It was only somewhat effective. The most sharp-eyed of the archers were at first pleased, then horrified; the body parts that were hit by arrows were torn away, besieged by flame, and seemed to vaporize into red embers and ash, but the rest of the creature simply continued, some crawling, some headless. The ones whose torsos were lost were simply absorbed by their fellows, seeming to donate their limbs to those who had lost their own, or else joining with the nearest shade to become a freakish monster. It was these that frightened the archers the most. They had two heads, and their limbs seemed tacked on, awkward and broken but still usable. Some of them loomed above the others with borrowed torsos stretching out their own.

"Again!" The cry was sounded and another volley was prepared and fired. Some men, taken by fear, missed their targets and patches of grass caught flame, and yet the shades cast no shadow. Volley after volley was scattered into the approaching army, and they ought to have been decimated, but there were still too many. The order was passed down that every non-Druid man be given torches. Those that knew magic silently recited their fire spells. The soldiers all waited just inside the outer wall, in careful formation, and not a man among them believed wholeheartedly that they would survive. The younger men cried silently, but their hands were full of torches and swords, and they could not wipe away their tears.

They could not hear the shades, but they heard the archers cry out in fear and suddenly tendrils of darkness began ebbing under the stone of the walls, strange two-dimensional hands which floated across the dirt, dragging the rest of the bodies, flattened and twisted, behind. They rose from the ground like children under blankets, and some were cut down immediately by the men nearest the wall, but those body parts which were not touched by torches simply joined into other, newer shades.

A boy was the first to die.

He froze, his torch dropping from his hands as a group of shades approached. He had become transfixed, horrified, staring into the black hollows of their faces. They made no noise and yet he heard them, groaning, squelching like mud as they reached out to him. His mouth opened in a silent scream and one of the shades seemed to slide its hand past his jaws, down his throat. Another shade came closer, embracing the boy, passing through him, and it lost its shape as inky stands, like cobwebs, sidled up from its arms and began to cover its victim. He simply disappeared beneath it and the trio- boy and two shades- became one giant mass, hulking, its jaw hanging down to its chest.

Then men were doomed from the start. They simply couldn't kill the shades fast enough, because every limb left unburned became another soldier, and every man killed joined the shades. Even with jets of fire from the Druids, it was clear they would be overrun. And yet, forgotten, the handful of Druids in the temple continued their work.

* * *

Elsewhere, Hunith sat bolt upright, the blanket pooling around her waist. She had been dreaming of Merlin. She dreamed of him often but this was different. Dark. She suddenly felt afraid, so afraid. Something terrible was going to happen, and the mother in her knew she had to go to her child. So she began to pack a bag, taking only food and water; there was no time for anything else. It was dark outside as she mounted her horse. The moon itself seemed eclipsed, and so she didn't see the white dragon as it soared overhead.


	46. Daybreak

Arthur, like his knights, had long ago learned to ignore his own fear during battle. There was only that moment, only that adversary, only the sweep of his torch and the glint of his blade.

 _Slash, burn. Slash, burn._

This close, the shades were just a crowd of depthless eyes, staring, oh, gods, _horrifying-_

 _ **Slash. Burn.**_

Merlin was fighting nearby. He hadn't turned into a dragon, not yet, but he was already nearly unrecognizable. He wore gauntlets of scale; in fact, there was iridescent darkness covering him from his toes to his chin, and were it not for the bright paleness of his face, he might have been confused for a shade in the heat of the moment. Fire danced around him, trailing the fluidlike motion of his hands, illuminating the harsh angles of his face. Only his eyes still seemed human.

It felt to Arthur like he and his men were swimming, barely keeping their heads above water. If he stood still tendrils of fallen shades would begin to wrap themselves weakly around his feet. The ground was black with them, unable to strike but groaning in a chorus. The air was red with hundreds of individual flames, and there was a burnt scent in the air as fireballs, shot by Druid soldiers, accidentally singed the hair and clothes of their companions. Arthur didn't know how long it had been. He was desperately weary, but the stars were fading, and he felt a surge of hope. Surely, they could beat the army if only they could hold on until morning.

Out of the corner of his eye Arthur saw Merlin freeze, his gaze trained on something in the sky. His entire body was tense, almost thrumming in the light of the fire, and Arthur made a step towards him. Merlin looked back at him for a moment- a single moment, but it stretched on for a lifetime. Sound drained away. The torch in Arthur's own hand moved slowly, like a blade of grass held underwater. The shades were somewhere distant from him, another world maybe, and it was just the two of them alone.

It was goodbye.

Arthur was fighting, surging against that moment, dropping his torch as he reached out, trying to run in a world where everything had been rendered still. It was swimming against a current and the water was icy; it felt like the lake at Avalon, and Merlin was rippling, scales blooming on his cheeks, on his forehead. It reminded Arthur of the death of Kilgarrah. And suddenly the moment shattered and sound was sucked back in in a roar, screams and the crackling of fire and steel whistling through the air. Merlin was gone. Emrys had taken his place.

The dragon stared at Arthur for another second, two, and then it leapt from the ground, its wings unfurling as it rose to meet the white dragon approaching from above the treeline.

* * *

Likmus had been waiting for this moment, sitting in his chambers, forgotten. He was watching Merlin through the window, wanting him to change, _willing_ him to change, and then Aithusa had risen like a dream from the west.

As the little black dragon flew out to meet the white one, Likmus turned to the mortar filled with ground bone. He pulled a little black vial from his pocket and poured it in, smiling to himself as he did so.

 _Wait._

Likmus jumped, the incantation fading from his lips. "Mistress? I thought you wanted-"

 _Not yet, love. I know the sorceress's mind. She cares only to destroy Merlin, and I have found her heart to be weak and treacherous._

"I don't understand, Nimueh."

 _Merlin will be working for me even without your spell, Likmus. Wait a while. Let him kill the dragoness and her master, and then it will be time. I only need one dragon, after all._

"You are wise as ever, mistress." Likmus looked out the window resignedly. He had waited this long for his spell. It wouldn't kill him to wait a little longer.

* * *

The dragoness was far larger than Emrys remembered, and he felt a flicker of unease which he abandoned quickly. The man was on the ground below him, fighting for his life, and he would be killed if the dragoness and her rider were not stopped. Emrys could not let that happen. He would not let it happen.

The two dragons were flying as fast as they could towards each other, but Emrys realized he was too small and at the last second he twisted in midair, diving under Aithusa. He swiped at her underbelly as he passed, feeling the scales give beneath his talons, but her hind leg caught his wing in a blind defensive kick and he spiraled downwards for a hundred feet before righting himself.

His head was a madhouse of sound. The strange black creatures below were crying, wailing in misery. The woman on the dragon was there, too, saying things he couldn't understand, and so was the man with the golden light. There were two more voices and Emrys couldn't pinpoint the source; one felt like it was a part of him, emanating from somewhere deep in his heart, and the other felt cold and alien. They were distracting. Aithusa was approaching and he surged upwards to meet her but the voices were loud, so loud, and when the dragoness dove in he didn't block her completely and her teeth tore through his shoulder. The agony was sudden, sharp, and the voices became more clear. And aside from the creatures below, every voice was saying the same word.

 _Merlin._


	47. Countdown

_Merlin, stay with me!_ Arthur had all but forgotten the fight around him and several of his knights took notice, converging about him to keep the shades at bay. _Damn it, Merlin!_

 _I hear you._ The response was distant, labored. _It's... hard, Arthur, I can't-_

 _He's right, young warlock._ Kilgarrah was chiming in, his voice ghostly in the dragon's head. _You can't beat them without magic. You'll be killed._

 _It's taking too much energy.. I can't focus._

Without warning, Aithusa lunged at him, her wings wrapping about him like a blanket. The two began to fall. The sound of the air whistling by was loud, so loud, and Aithusa was scrabbling at him with her talons. She found purchase in his left hind leg and dug in, and Arthur heard Merlin scream in his head.

Desperately Merlin began snapping at her neck, his jaws skittering harmlessly on the polished ivory of her scales. He couldn't see it but he knew the ground was close, and Arthur and Kilgarrah were drowning each other out, and then suddenly Aithusa's wings seemed to melt away with a roar. She was careening away and Merlin could see scarlet on her neck.

 _A chink in her armor,_ Kilgarrah observed.

Merlin righted himself, pushing upwards hard. His leg throbbed, but it didn't matter. He knew Aithusa's weakness. It was a patch roughly a hand and a half in diameter, where Morgana had taken a scale.

He felt his magic now, pulsing, coursing through his veins like some icy fire, and grimly he pulled a wave of ice shards from the depths of the clouds. There was no time to try and spare Aithusa, not now. He focused on the side of her neck.

Morgana was standing upright on Aithusa's back and Merlin could hear her screaming incantations. Her hands were outstretched and the ice shards melted away as Aithusa sped through their midst. Some fragments were left behind and they tore bloody holes in the dragon's wings, but she didn't slow. Her jaws were reaching, gaping, and Merlin lowered his head like a ram as he rose to meet her. His horns found her chest and he felt something give, deep under her scales, but Morgana wouldn't let Aithusa stop. Instead the dragon tore at his shoulder. At first his own scales held her teeth at bay, but she was gripping him with her claws and he couldn't get free. There was a tearing sound as Merlin shot upwards, the force of his body sending Aithusa away even as his shoulder erupted in fire. He could see red out of the corner of his eye but he turned, looking for Aithusa again, conjuring a fleet of cloud falcons like the last time they'd fought. The pain helped him focus, helped him remember that his name was Merlin and he was human.

The falcons were swarming the white dragon, and Merlin stayed a distance away, conjuring more and more. They were trying to encase Aithusa's wings again but Morgana knew better, warding them off with blasts of hot air. Still, between the birds and keeping Aithusa in check, Morgana was stretched thinner even than Merlin, and the warlock was doing his utmost to make her work as hard as possible. She had not used any spells in a direct attempt to attack him, and Merlin had an idea that she simply didn't have the energy.

 _Aithusa, I know you can hear me._

Even at a distance Merlin could see her head snap in his direction, her eyes widening.

 _I don't want to fight you. And you don't want to fight me, either, do you?_

There was no reaction other than the initial surprise, but Merlin pressed on, flying closer.

 _I'm still a Dragonlord, Aithusa, even now. I command you to leave this place. Please. Let this end._

 _ **Shut up!**_ Morgana sounded furious. There was a blast and the last of Merlin's birds were disintegrated, but Aithusa stayed motionless a moment. Close enough now to see her expression, Merlin could see she was in agony. Morgana was screaming commands, and the dragon seemed frozen.

In the castle, Likmus stood up, a smile of real delight on his face. Nimueh was whispering in his ear.

 _This is taking too long, don't you think?_

"I quite agree," he said, and subconsciously, he traced the broken triskele on his wrist.

 _Aithusa has proven a disappointment. Weak. Useless._

"A pity."

 _Merlin, too. But that, at least, can be remedied._

"I live to serve, mistress."

 _It's time, darling._

Likmus retrieved the mortar filled with all that remained of Balinor, and poured it and the vial of sacred water into a fount. His incantation would not take long.


	48. Sunset

_A/N: I'm sorry._

* * *

It might have even worked.

Aithusa was still frozen, indecisive, but as Merlin approached he saw something change in the set of her face. There was a determination in her eyes that he had never seen before; he doubted even _she_ ever knew that it existed. For her entire life, Aithusa had been under the care of someone else. Under the _control_ of someone else. But now Morgana was silent, her face a paroxysm of confusion and fear.

"I have loved you long, Morgana Pendragon," the sorceress spoke suddenly, and her voice was distant. Alien. "I will love you always. But you are misguided. You have been inside of my mind, using me for destruction, but I am inside of your mind, too. I do not want death, Morgana. I never did. What we are doing... It is wrong."

Morgana's voice grew higher, more emotional.

"How can you say that to me? You saw-"

"I saw that you loved him once, Morgana." The sorceress, now a mouthpiece for the dragon, seemed to interrupt herself. "You loved him dearly, and you were hurt. I do not pretend to know the ways of men. The wounds he has dealt- both physical and emotional- are severe. But they do not warrant this."

"I loved him." Morgana was speaking now- a mewl, quiet and pitiful. "I _loved_ you, Merlin."

 _I loved you too, once. Not so long ago. The person you used to be._

"She died," Morgana whispered, but there was no fury anymore. Only a terrible sadness. "She died alone, and...frightened."

 _Help me stop this, Morgana, and I swear you won't be alone anymore._

There was silence and Merlin watched tears building in the sorceress's eyes. Suddenly she began to smile. Slowly, tentatively, but Aithusa was radiating pleasure, too, and Merlin knew what her answer was going to be.

And then there was blackness.

* * *

It took only a moment after Likmus's incantation, and Merlin was simply extinguished. What was left in his place was not even Emrys, not anymore. It was a drone: just another shade for Nimueh to control.

Nimueh had never left the Isle of the Blessed. She had waited, safe, comfortable, _patient_. There was no reason for her to go to battle. Her soldiers would destroy Camelot, and now her dragon would replace Morgana and Aithusa, whose weakness made them unnecessary.

It was almost sad. Aithusa had not been expecting an attack; and really, she had had no reason to. They had been having a nice little chat and suddenly Emrys had lunged forwards, his jaws nearly unhinging as he grasped at her throat. His first blow was almost the killing one. Aithusa's life was saved by instinct; she had twisted away, just slightly, and the largest of his fangs missed her weak spot by a breath.

Leaning over her fount, Nimueh twitched her fingers idly. Emrys moved in response like a marionette.

He struck again, this time with fire. The flames unfurled from deep in his chest and although Aithusa herself was invulnerable to their eager kisses, her rider was not. She was forced to fly upwards, which Emrys (or rather, Nimueh) had anticipated, and he struck at her belly as she rose. His talons left deep gashes in the softer scale there, and blood welled up almost immediately.

 _Forgive me, sister, but there is no love in war._

* * *

"It's done!" A Druid emerged from the depths of the temple, shouting for all to hear even in spite of the shades, a wild grin on his face. "It's finished! We're saved!"

"There must be a first sacrifice," one of the other builders said, and a race began to find the nearest horse.

* * *

The dragons were dancing through the air, light and shadow and fire and blood. Emrys appeared worse off; there were jagged tears through his wings, and blood dripped from his jaws, where Aithusa's claws had raked down his face. Even so, Nimueh would not let him stop. Aithusa was exhausted but Emrys kept attacking, a whirlwind of tooth and claw and fire.

"Merlin, _stop!"_ Morgana was pleading.

 _So pitiful, my pet. I expected nothing less._ It was Nimueh's voice. _Begging for your life. If only I were merciful._

"I don't understand!" Morgana was clutching Aithusa's neck, her face sooty and terrified. "I was on your side!"

 _But I don't need you, dear. You were weak. And why should I share my crown?_

"You'll fail," Morgana said, and her expression was clearing into a dark smile. "I dreamed this. I dreamed of this fight, of this sunset, and Merlin _loses_."

 _Do you think it's fate?_ Nimueh laughed sweetly. _Like Arthur's death was fate? Like **my** death was fate? _

At that moment, a horse was killed somewhere down below. Blood washed over the altar of the black temple, and the shades suddenly froze, their faces upturned. And without a sound, they seeped into the earth.

 _The Triple Goddess is dead. She has no power over fate, sister. I don't need her guidance anymore._

And suddenly Emrys lunged forwards again, and again out of instinct, Aithusa bent her neck away, protecting the break in her scales. Only Emrys wasn't aiming for her neck.

Twisting, his jaws closed around Morgana's waist. She had no time to scream, no time to even take the breath. There was a _schick_ and a _snap_ and both halves of her fell to the ground even as a cheer erupted, for the shades were finally vanquished.

Aithusa roared in grief and dove after her mistress's remains, as if hoping by some miracle to resurrect her again. Emrys dove, too, but for an altogether different purpose.

Nimueh had a brief glimpse of the dumb surprise on the first man's face as he looked up, confused by the sudden shadow descending down upon him. Emrys landed a few feet away and watched him for a moment, amused, like a cat discovering a baby mouse. His head tilted, and the man could see that the slits had disappeared from his eyes; they were a pure gold, tinged now with red, but he did not understand the gravity of his observation even as a set of talons raked across his chest, piercing his lungs and then his heart.

Of course, Nimueh took her time with the first man, but as she began to enjoy herself, her kills grew quicker. A sweep of Emrys's tail might not kill every bystander but some of them were flung a dozen feet away, and their cries were divine. It was just as nice to snap men up in Emrys's jaws, too, but Nimueh's favorite was fire.

Distracted by her bloodlust, she did not see the lone woman fighting through the crowds, her voice lost amid the screams. Arthur, however, did.

* * *

 _"Hunith, no!"_ Arthur sprinted after her and grabbed hold of her shoulders, fighting to pull her back, but she would not be moved.

"That's my son! That's _my_ _ **son**_ ," she was screaming, and the dragon turned to face them, its eyes blank and lidless, its fangs bloody. Arthur stepped in front of her, his heart in his throat. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins and there was only one thought in his mind. He could not let Merlin kill his own mother. There would be no coming back from that. Not ever. But suddenly, an unexpected sound rose behind him, and he turned in spite of himself.

Hunith was singing.

Arthur recognized the tune as the lullaby he had heard Merlin singing to Gaius, only now, he could understand the words- through Merlin's mind, _Merlin_ , not Emrys, not Nimueh.

 _"I know not why_

 _you leave home,_

 _but I'll be here._

 _I will stay._

 _Your plate will be w-warm,_

 _and y-your room the s-same._

 _Fear not... Fear-"_ She broke off, wiping tears from her cheeks. The dragon was watching, enraptured, almost hypnotized, and Arthur nodded at Hunith to continue. Sniffling, she started again.

 _'"Fear not th... the dark_

 _in the strange places,_

 _for there are no nights_

 _in the warmth of your light."_

Hunith's song had long since lapsed into sobs, but the Druids had joined her, and their voices were strong and clear in the dusk.

The dragon didn't transform but now Arthur could see Merlin, the ghost of a boy enshrined in the ruins of a monster. The king's sword fell from his hand. He stepped forward and as he neared he could see the eyes of the wraith that was once his best friend. There was horror there. Sadness. And above all, there was a violent hatred- Merlin's hatred of himself and what he had done.

 _"_ It wasn't your fault, Merlin," Arthur said softly, but now the dragon was crying. It was a low, keening sound and he edged back from Arthur's hand, his eyes now roving the battlefield wildly. "Look at me. Merlin. We can fix this. _Look at me_." But Merlin's anguish rolled off of him in waves and for the first time in a long, long time, Arthur panicked. There was pain- physical pain, a bolt of shock blooming in his chest like a poison, because he had glimpsed the inevitable. In that exact moment, he was losing Merlin.

"Merlin, please, _please_ , I love you, _please_ , damn it, **_look at me!"_**

But the dragon's wings were flaring and the pain in Arthur's chest was getting worse and he felt certain in that moment that he would die. He was screaming but the dragon shot into the air, leaving only scattered puddles of blood and a gust of wind so powerful that several men were blown off their feet.


	49. Wreckage

After the dragons fled the battlefield, Camelot was as a graveyard.

It wasn't quiet, not really. There was a faint breeze and the tattered remains of the crimson flags on the parapets fluttered softly. Many people were crying, but even their screams of grief upon finding a loved one were hushed. It was twilight, and together they stood somewhere between a bloody sunset and a cold, dark night.

Arthur sat at the edge of the clearing between the castle walls and the woods. A couple of knights had come up to him, asking him questions he didn't understand. _Are you hurt?_ they would ask. _Can I help?_ But Arthur couldn't find his voice and so he stared into the trees and waited.

Guinevere found him as the first stars were beginning to emerge from the half-dark. She knew better than to ask him if he was okay. She just sat in the grass next to him and held his hand, and after a while, his head dropped to rest on her shoulder.

"Let's go," she said quietly, and he closed his eyes, ignoring her. "Arthur."

"I need time," he said, and his voice sounded shattered.

"I know, but you don't get any. Not just now. You gave up that right when you let them put that crown on your head." She leaned her cheek against his hair, sighing, her heart breaking for her husband and for her friend and for all the dead lying scattered in the streets. "There will be time for grief later. But right now, the people need a king. They are scared, and they are hurt, and they are alone. They need you."

She had to help him to his feet. He seemed ancient, like the weight of a thousand years was weighing on his bones and on his heart. He was just ahead of her, staring into the trees still, and Gwen watched as the set of his back changed in a moment. Somehow he conjured up a confidence, an authority, like he was about to stride through the Great Hall and receive his subjects. His head was high and his shoulders squared, and she realized with a pang that she was watching an act that Arthur had, by necessity, perfected.

The breeze seemed to die as Arthur reappeared in the courtyard. People grew immediately silent. Those that were crouching rose slowly, unfolding from the ground, their eyes fixed on him as he passed. He surveyed the battlefield, and deep under his facade, his heart fell.

When the shades had retreated into the earth, the soldiers that they had converted appeared from the depths of their inky, melting forms. They were left prostrate where they fell, their faces frozen in death-masks and stained by the shades as they ebbed away. Arthur stared down at one in particular- a girl no older than 6. The blackness seeping from her face was seemingly repelled by twin tracks on her cheeks, like water to wax, and Arthur realized they were tear-stains.

They were waiting for him to speak, but Arthur had no words. The usual reassurances felt hollow. _We will rebuild_ , he could say. _Camelot still stands. She is strong. We are strong._ But he looked around and saw broken people. They wouldn't believe those words any more than he did, just then. And so he unpinned his cloak, now tattered and stained, and he wrapped it around the dead child like a blanket, and he lifted her gently, as if she were asleep. As he walked the faces of the watching men and women were blurred, and he had eyes only for the face of the girl he carried. He brushed her hair from cheeks and wiped away the tearstains with the pad of his thumb. The record of her suffering thus erased, she looked like she might have been sleeping.

He laid her at the base of the stairs leading to the Great Hall, and he turned to find a small procession behind him. At its head was a woman who seemed to vibrate with the force of the sobs she kept stifled; she was undoubtedly the girl's mother.

"What was her name?" Arthur asked quietly.

"Astrea," the woman said, her face terribly lined. It was unlikely she would ever bear another child.

"That's a beautiful name." Arthur rested his hand on her shoulder and he could feel it shaking now. "She died with honor. She will be remembered that way."

He turned to the rest of the crowd, watching, waiting. Several, following his example, were lifting their fallen brethren.

"They will all be remembered," he shouted. " _We will never forget their names!"_

People began to chant the names of their dead brothers, sisters, children. It was quiet at first- a whisper, but it grew into a roar. _Lillian. Mark. Astrea. Lukan._ Hundreds of names, and yet in the din, Arthur could only think of one name.

" _ **Merlin**."_

* * *

 _A/N: Remember when I thought I could handle regular updates and a full courseload? Yeah, me too._

 _I'm doing my best, please be patient!_


	50. Exeunt

He had never flown so far before, or so fast, but it wasn't enough. Every beat of his wings was agony; there were a dozen gashes, some desperately deep, but they were less painful than the images seared into his mind. Death. Blood. He was a murderer, and he could not outfly his own head. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to die- to simply stop existing, before the weight of his own guilt could crush him into nothingness. Kilgarrah was gone. He could never see Arthur again, not after what he had done; Arthur would never forgive him the death of his people anyways.

How did he lose himself so desperately?

He wasn't old enough for the age he felt now. He wasn't even 25 and yet he felt he had lived for a hundred years and he was _tired_. He remembered coming to Camelot and how shiny everything had seemed. How light. There were troubles, sure; magical misadventures and quests and things, and they had seemed so important at the time, but now.. how trivial, how sweet. He would give everything he had to go back to those days, when he was 17 and full of energy and ignorant still of the terrible loneliness his magic would bring him.

He was imploding, shooting down the countryside and still picking up speed even as the tears in his wings widened. Always a little faster, just a little more, and maybe he could shake the dark from deep in his head, but it was there to stay, and suddenly a simple and terrible thought arose like a sprout from a seed buried underground.

He could not bear the burden of what he had done. It would kill him, one way or another. But Emrys did not know. He did not understand. He simply _was_ \- a creature of instinct and magic. Free. Always, when he was in his draconic form, he was fighting to remember himself; now, he made the decision to forget.

His last thoughts were of Arthur, the golden light in the dark. And then there was nothing.

* * *

Aithusa, like Merlin, left Camelot with no heading. She knew only that she had to leave that field of death and so she flew blindly, mourning for her mistress and for herself. Morgana was her home. There was nowhere to go now, nobody to go to, and for the first time she understood that she was the last of the dragons, and what loneliness truly meant. She would live for hundreds of years and then she would die, forgotten. And so when she saw the black dragon flying ahead of her, she hesitated.

He had killed her mistress, and the surge of hate she felt at the thought sped her into an attack- a strike without form, without tactic, with only rage fueling her claws. He ought to have beaten her easily, or at least fought her off, but he simply gave under her talons. Something was amiss but Aithusa latched on anyways, smoke billowing from her jaws in her fury. They crash-landed in a clearing, the other dragon taking the brunt of both of their weight as they slammed into the ground, and he withstood it silently. Even when she snapped her teeth an inch from his neck, he did not move. She stopped.

He was terribly injured from their fight earlier, that much was obvious. It was a miracle he had even been flying at all. But it didn't seem to Aithusa that that was why he did not fight her. She stared at him, her head still lowered as though prepared for another charge, but as the moments passed she relaxed. The dragon was swaying on his feet as he faced her, and with a sigh, he simply laid down. It was then that Aithusa realized the dragon was not Merlin.

 _I do not know you_ , she said as the dragon's head drooped to rest on his paws.

 _I believe... we've met. You were controlled by someone else._

 _As were you._

 _I was... someone different, but I'm... new. I do not... understand..._

 _Who are you?_

 _I am Emrys._

The dragon was watching her, blinking sleepily, and Aithusa did not know his eyes. They were unfamiliar, but there was a quality to them that made her feel she had seen them before, long ago, long before Merlin or Morgana or any man that had ever walked the earth.

 _I am Aithusa,_ she told him as his strange eyes slid shut. _And I think.. I've been waiting for you._


	51. Acheron

Nimueh could feel Merlin's agony from miles away. Had their been any human part of her left, she might have felt pity; as it was, she felt only a twinge of distaste.

"Disappointing," she sighed, lounging over her fount and watching the black dragon careening through the air. Suddenly she straightened, frowning. She could feel Merlin disappearing. His essence was fading, ebbing away; in a moment or two he would be gone. He was not dying, so why-

"It isn't your time, my pet," she tutted, and her lacquered nails dipped into the fount, turning the water a swirl of gold and blue and deep, inky black. "I can still use you yet."

* * *

Aithusa was used to being a caretaker. She had always watched over Morgana, and now she watched over Emrys. It took many moons to nurse him back to health, and the entire time, he said very little. He only watched her with his strange, sad eyes.

He dreamed often. She would wake to hear him mewling softly in the dark, his tail snapping between the trees, and when she woke him his eyes were for a moment lost and alien- not Emrys, she thought, but the moment always passed too soon and he would huff at her quietly before settling back into sleep. Even as his wounds healed into scars his dreams did not cease.

Aithusa herself slept very little for the first few weeks. Her mind was constantly in turmoil. On one hand, the black dragon had killed Morgana; it had not been Emrys, to be sure, and maybe not Merlin either, but the stain of murder lingered. Some part of her felt that she was doing her mistress a great wrong by taking in her killer. Even so, she could not destroy the dragon. She could not even abandon him. He was small, and permanently weakened by their battle- his wings flayed, his face and body sadly scarred. Everything about him seemed vulnerable. The need to protect him was downright primeval, but even stronger than this need was Aithusa's own need for companionship. She had never been alone, not really. To be the last of the dragons... How could she turn out the only other of her kind?

* * *

 _There's someone in my head someone in my head_

Dark. Snatches of light, of sound.

 _But it's me in their head how can this be I'm me I'm Merlin this isn't right_

He was watching through a glazed pane refracted a thousand times over, meaningless colors and shapes.

 _I wanted it to be over this isn't what I wanted this isn't right_

There were brief intervals of clarity; he did not know it, but this was when Emrys dreamed. He waited for these moments, desperate to understand what had happened, to understand why he, Merlin, had not died. He existed as a shadow. The absence of feeling was what struck him the most. He had thought that that was what he wanted- not to feel- but the emotions were still there; no, they were _all_ that was there, because there was no hot, no cold, no tiredness, no pain. Maybe he had died after all, but now he was a ghost, consigned to wander a place without form or dimension. There were only his memories, now crystal clear without anything to distract him. And the tiredness was still there.

As time passed he learned to see through the distorted light of the world beyond, somewhere outside of him. The images were vague at first, but he understood that he saw as Emrys did, and occasionally felt as he did, too. It was a secondhand excuse at life but anything was better than the thoughts in his own head and so he watched.

He saw Aithusa often, although she only saw him for the briefest of moments- when Emrys was asleep, dreaming, and he had not yet shuffled Merlin away as a nightmare. He could not speak in these moments, although he tried many times, and eventually he learned to enjoy that single second before he drifted away again. And that's how it was- drifting, floating through a darkness so complete he felt disintegrated, a particle in the deep. Sometimes it was even peaceful. He was never happy, not really, but more and more often he stole a piece of vicarious happiness from Emrys. It was obvious that he and Aithusa were mates. Neither of them knew it yet, as was a dragon's wont; they only understood that they knew each other from some time long ago.

Dragons only mated once, Merlin knew, and he had heard a story as a boy that the reason for this was that they were created in pairs, their eggs formed in the stars but falling down to earth at different times. A dragon could wait centuries for their mate, but they would do so patiently. There was no stronger bond. And now Emrys had found his.


End file.
